i think i was meant
to be a flower --
maybe a tulip.
soft,
sunlit,
open.
but i spent
way
too
long
wilting away
before i even got the chance
to bloom.

there were summers
i didn’t feel.
playgrounds i left
way too early.
and dresses i never wore
because i didn’t feel pretty --
or skinny enough
to.

i wanted to run
along the beach
with my group of friends,
laughing,
smiling.
but i was too shy.
too scared
they’d make fun
of the way i run.
so i didn’t go.

i’m only fifteen,
but some days
i feel like
my petals
already fell.
like i was just
too late.

and maybe one day,
i’ll grow again --
maybe as an orchid.
maybe softness
isn’t something you miss,
but something
you return to.

trying to sleep without you --
is like the depths of hell
the big fires,
the scary people.

i can't get comfy.
my body burns,
aches even,
it itches
without your warmth.
without your touch.
i feel like --
im burning alive

this is the worst it gets,
right?
unable to sleep alone,
unable to cope alone,
needing you with me,
just to quiet my brain
enough
to finally get
some shut eye.

you were always
something oceanic --
pulling,
never touching,
loud
but somehow
without sound.

i had never learnt
how to swim,
but i waded into you
like i wouldn’t drown.
even though i couldn't swim.
i waded anyway,
like softness
could save me.

you had looked at me
like a wave
right before it breaks --
beautiful
confident
but too full
of something
it cannot hold.

i should’ve known.
even low tides leave salt.
even still,
quiet, gentle water
it pulls you under
if you stay too long.
especially if you stay too long.

but gosh,
you were just so --
blue.
and i was so incredibly
willing,
to just let you in
to let myself drown,
slowly losing myself.

you know that feeling?
when your heartbeat
just quietly moves
into your ears
your throat
your ribs
your skull --
like it's trying to upset you
or escape,
but you're the one
trapping it.

i felt it
when she brushed my arm
it was an accident -
maybe not..
i don't know
but my chest went loud
my heart beat picked up --
not fast,
just loud
like every part of me
was pulse
like it was screaming
for everyone to know
i was alive.
it was loud.

i could feel it
in my teeth
in my fingertips
in my stomach
my organs jumped
like i swallowed lightning.

it wasn't love --
not yet.
but something in me
already knew
how loudly she could make me feel
all my emotions flooded me at once
and it was just
a light touch.

you said it was a joke,
about how you wanted to kiss me
you looked me
straight in my eyes
and told me,
"i could kiss you right now"
then pulled away after a moment.
your touch lingered,
i could still feel your hands there,
on my cheeks,
holding them.
i could still feel
your body heat --
you had gotten too close
close enough for me to still feel it
because even though you left
you were still there.

you said it was a joke,
but the look in your eyes
it was desperate,
like you needed a push
to kiss me
then
and there

"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.

you kissed me once --
you were drunk,
and it was once,
just once --
and then laughed like it was nothing
but your hand lingered
just half a second too long.
half a second.

you held my secrets
like folded contracts,
terms tucked
into your quiet,
and sneaky glances
like maybe
you were hoping,
and praying that i wouldn't read them.
or try to.

i should've known.
love was never in bold.
it was small,
curved quietly into the margin
of every almost we had pretended
didn't matter to us,
to me,
to anyone,
at all.

now you hold her hand
in public.
and i hold
all the things
you never said --
only highlighted,
neon yellow,
and in hindsight.

i should've read the terms,
the conditions,
the fine print.
should've known.