Falling Down; Always Rising.
I catch rays of sunshine while I’m laying against warm pavement; the way the light moves through my hands makes me feel less invisible and more fluid. I wish I could figure out [indefinitely] how to move through this world without having to guard my heart; afraid of those who are ready to step on it.
A girl once held my throat in her hands against a chalkboard while other girls laughed. When I smacked her face, they fell silent. I cried. My hand not harmed but my heart aching because I just wanted to be accepted. My father used to scorn me; they’re jealous because you look like that but if you eat like that, you’ll be lost and they’ll move on.
I walk through Central Park and it makes me cry and I can’t possibly explain exactly why but I’ve been practicing, so I try. It’s like each leaf knows my story, the turtles sunbathing on the rocks know the tune to my heart, the man who smiles behind the gelato cart doesn’t want to rape me, and the benches hold me in a way that doesn’t make me want to run.
Something about being so far from where I was raised…feels like home; like all this time I’ve been falling, I’ve been rising with the sun.