Sprouting

Thu, 01/19/2017 - 21:48 -- Lacel

I am a seed, a sprout, a tree,

all at once.

Over hundreds of days,

thousands of moments.

Leaps of joy, and millstones

for a heart

are the roots of where I go

and who I am.

There's a weight that arrives

when Winter does. I share whispers

with a ghost that haunts me for years.

For the first time, I speak to it

instead of its traces.

I am placed into safer hands.

The boy with the shaved sides

and the braces and

a Brazilian accent.

Soft words and typos and

understanding and warmth. The excitement of

taking off the mask

and coming face

to face with literal

sunshine.

I am saved,

over and over

again by the ones on the screen.

An unhealthy relationship between a drunk

and his mentally ill grandson. A traumatized,

strong man with the skull

on his tee.

Diverse, friendly cops

in the 99th precinct.

A small middle school boy

with a bowl cut and drinks milk

every night.

He’s out of control but

so am I.

Today, I am safer.

I am safer.

This poem is about: 
Me

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