Sometimes we are not meant to be whole humans alone.
I think while some of us are shattered at a young age that some of us were meant to find our pieces along the way. I am not the men who have tried to break me. I am not the people who did not love me. I am not five flat tires in July. I am not this sickness that grips me, or the pain it carries with it. I am not missed phone calls and texts, I am not my missed opportunities. I am coffee at 9am. I am drinks on a porch somewhere in Riverwest at 9pm I am the love stories I have held onto, I am the keeper of tears for my best friends, I am partially my mother. The good parts. A piece of me is still with her and always will be. I know that part of me rests behind the eyes of my best boy. I felt more whole than I ever have the first time he looked at me. In the same way, my storyteller carries part of me on the tip of her tongue always. I cannot speak her name without tasting tiny citrus fruits and love on my breathe. I have promised I will never forget where I come from. I have deep roots, but I am growing new fruit here- and it is sweet.
**Please support disabled trans folx and my current medical bills by buying a Deep Roots shirt at the link below!**