you're four and pocahontas is your world.
mommy and daddy don't understand,
'you want to marry the princess?
you can't.'
(they don't know why you're confused.)

you're six and they make you dance with a boy.
your teacher doesn't understand,
'you want to dance with your best friend?
you can't.'
(frustration and embarrassment heats your face.)

you're eight and girls aren't just pretty anymore.
you simply cannot understand.
'i have a crush on a girl?
i can't!'
('what is this feeling? loathing, unadulterated loathing.')

you're ten, and it's hard not to wonder why.
you don't WANT to understand.
'why can't i just be normal?
i can't?'
(you're in denial.)

you're twelve and your friends loooovvveee boys.
what's so great about them? your friends really don't understand.
'they're xy and z, you're ab and c, you can't like girls.
you can't.'
(you're angry and disillusioned.)

you're fourteen and you feel like you deserve their hatred.
they don't care that you haven't come out yet, your bully doesn't care to understand.
'ew, i think she's staring, she should stop.'
the bully walks away and smirks. 'she can't.'
(but you didn't stare, she just made you scared.)

you're sixteen and you don't go to school anymore.
all your potential and passion mean nothing to Anxiety.
rationality is nothing she will ever understand.
'why don't you just give up on yourself?' she asks.
you can't.
(you have too much pride, too many hearts and hopes.)

you're eighteen and you want to write your own narrative.
the people you come out to always try to understand.
'you can love whoever you want.' they say. you wonder.
'i can?'
(your heart has been broken, but it mends itself with melted gold.)

you're almost twenty and you're not afraid anymore.
you've met the love of your life, and she understands.
'i'll walk beside you no matter how long it takes, until you believe me when i say: you can, you can, you can.'
after all you've lost, you don't know when you'll feel whole again. but you know that you can.
(fear is no match for your fire. you rise up from the ashes and you will own your narrative because...)

i can.