the monster i cannot see

no one ever told me i’d be drowning in salt water 

or be banned from the sun

no one ever told me mother would cry out her resentment

or be deaf from laughter of everyone 

no one ever told you smells of cinnamon and patience 

would fall from your nose 

nobody told me i’d be the only one who understood

no one ever told you car horns and boba

would dissolve into mourning 

but nobody said to stop saying what you should

no one ever told us we’d forget the feeling of our arms 

tied around each other’s bones 

no one ever told us we’d be frozen in time, no more twinkle in our eyes

bookbags full of bricks and stones

no one allowed the outspoken to shove their dignity into their pocket 

heads down, locker doors slamming fast

or the shameful to let illness in hurricanes 

sweep them off the grass

to which we ask:

“grass,

do we not deserve you?”

“sky,

have we grown too heavy for your arms? “

“windows 

are you on our side or the monster’s?”

good mornings and good nights

said only in hopes the world doesn’t destroy us

but destruction, how you’re longed for!

my heart is put together with superglue 

but it’s only the air of common soul

that can break it

and kiss it with strength

and break it

and kiss it with comfort

the comfort of living 

the comfort of car horns and boba

and locker doors and eye twinkles

good mornings and good nights

it’s not the same until it might

be colored again with chaos and light

gain and also lose a tiptoeing fright

no one ever told me i 

should only dream

of something so bright