Juneteenth

alaska's on fire.

new mexico. california. arizona. colorado.

"who can leave, who can travel?"

we all raise our arms high, we all feel sick with island fever.

but later, this question lingers around my eyes and haunts my evening.

a small part of me wants to go, to give this up.

what was any of this for? the struggle to be here?

i fell in love. truly in love. it tore me apart. i am still in pain but am at least awake now. i am a mummy, bandages unraveling, each layer i tug away exposes raw pulsing traumas, mapping my hurt and the self that i lost.

uncertainty used to excite me. not anymore. everything feels unfinished. i try to not live in the past, but still sneak reads of old texts to remember what was lost, what i destroyed.

my heart says to heal here, that i can do that here. if i can do that, maybe this hurt that i tend to spread will die here. maybe all this guilt and this shame can be left here. maybe i will find the scared little girl who is still in there somewhere, and learn how to stop being so scared now, enough to realize that i actually do want to be here more than anywhere.