Done playing small

I am a highway they’ve tried to change.
Because I am something not everyone
knows how to love.

I triumph like a girl; an overwhelmingly
dangerous animal is a part of me.
Teeth baring and protective of my meal.

Here I am. Alive more than some.
When I write words on paper.
When I see the things behind closed eyes
that no one else seems to see —
colors, magic, darkness, wholeness.

Disparate things and people that I
incredibly connect with no one knowing,
that go on living together, forever
in the universe.

The unrest is always in me.

A clear dissatisfaction of
anything expected. Of anything
I have to sign up for.
Anything written down by men
telling me how to be
BUT ALSO

longing.

Never full. Never not hungry.
Never settled or satiated.
Always on the hunt for blood.

Always awake in the dark.

This way of living is exhausting.
You are right.

So, I will forever be blissfully
starving and tired.
Embracing exhaustion that breeds
an alertness in the world —

a gratitude for the simplest of meals
that are usually overlooked.
Passed by. Unused. Left to rot.

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