Safe came in a spiral notebook.
the tattoos left behind by lead
showed me the unfiltered girl I’d almost marooned,
buried in my labyrinth of words.
all along, I’d thought she was hiding
out of fear from the outside world,
but the blank page was her utopia,
its blue prison bars: her safe haven.
Home was the rhythm of a conversation,
our effortless discussions never missing a beat.
despite the dissonance of our opinions and ideas,
harmony was when I let the words flow;
to be heard is to be valued.
Confidence bloomed in a dirty bathroom mirror
when I saw a girl who was finally comfortable;
the only way to achieve self-love
was to find a version of myself that could exist at full volume
in a universe inundated with other unique souls.
Safe was learning the secrets of my identity,
memorizing my beliefs like a family recipe that is ever-changing;
Home was the freedom to release those opinions,
the notes of a song tumbling forth from my lips,
waiting to be both pummeled and praised,
but never imprisoned;
Confidence was letting go of self-inflicted burdens
until my soul could be set free at last.