That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.

You panic button collector. You clock of beautiful ticks. You run out the door if you need to. You flock to the front row of your own class. You feather everything until you know you can always, always shake like a leaf on my family tree and know you belong here. You belong here and everything you feel is okay. Everything you feel is okay.

I write because it is while I'm writing that I feel most connected to why we're here. I write because silence is a heavy weight to carry. I write to remember. I write to heal. I write to let the air in. I write as a practice of listening.

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.

Safety isn't always safe. You can find one on every gun.

Yes, I like girls; Yes, I like boys; I like boys who like boys; I like girls who wear toys and girls who don't; I like girls who don't call themselves girls; Crew cuts or curls or that really bad hair phase in between.

Everyone’s chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-shaped holes.