I was born a golden china doll.
At least, that’s what everyone
taught me to be.
She sang I was her only sunshine,
made her happy when skies are gray,
over and over —
until I could smile through the pain.
I learned how to close my eyes one day
where I lived more awake.
I took spaceships to other worlds
I understood more fully
counting down the days.
Every sunrise I’d awake like an internal clockwork
to the echoing songs
the birds would line the walls
of the parking lot below with.
I was frozen and sore,
but with eyes closed,
a vivid world of feathered creatures
had come to give me the wings I prayed for.
As a grown child
in adult clothing,
I find myself shedding
the life of a careless past.
The person I’ve pushed aside inside
is starting to bloom.
Because I’m untangling their darkness
and have crossed paths with a glow that exists.
So I line my insides with him.
Like the beautiful chirps that did below my window.
So when my eyes go dark,
of another world I built
are explored with endless wonder,
and childlike curiosity.
I’ve painted towns
with our charisma,
crumbled mountain ridges
with our laughter,
put out fires
with the tears he’ll never share with me.
Because I’m afraid,
it’s not rejection I fear.
It’s grasping the splendor of my universe;
I tuck hidden from him
behind a worn-down wink,
and losing all the wonder—
to a line drawn in the sand.