gathering my experiences

When it ends like SILENCE and chaos

In hearts and minds of the young, middle, and old

I gather my experiences like medals, for proof

1. A kiss on the cheek from a new queer friend (I doubt I'll see again)

2. A hug from my new mother that held a sign (If you need a supportive mom, I'll be her)

3. Running with big eyes, everyone dodging each other (no one knowing where the sound came from)

I put a hand to my once pink lipsticked cheeks

I pull in my arms to try to feel the warmth of my new mother as I wish for the phone call of my old one

I take my fresh tears to the news

I hang another flag in my room. I watch another "blonde woman and brunette woman" film on my phone. I pick another shirt that looks right around my chest. I message a person and hold my breath till they reply; I'm hoping I was smooth. I play some songs. I read a book. I workout. I facetime my friend. I spill juice on the counter. I look into college again. I make a new drink, then I pour it out. I perfect a new dish. I breathe. In. Exhale. Out. I let the days go by. I let the weeks go by. I let the months go by. I keep going. I keep going. I keep going. I don't change. I change a little. I learn. I grow. I go back and forth. I'm angry about: the world, breakups, stubbing my toe. I'm happy about: the world, first dates, landing a new trick on my board. I---

What?

You thought I'd go back into hiding?

No. I exist.

Here's my proof.