pour croire a se; to accept oneself (ages 8-18)


I am no longer afraid to touch her. Magnolias have sprouted from my chest as an atomic bomb; a mushroom cloud of my purest thoughts. I have always been this way. I have always been capable of this.


He’ll grab your wrists and lay hand on your waist, spinning you madly about his shoulders and ridding you of any purity you once felt. But you will never hear him call you beautiful.


Pecola Breedlove is the purest representation of your innermost thoughts. You are driven to mere insanity at the thought of who you are, of who you are becoming, and you will pace back and forth within the blackness of your own mind, wondering if it will always be this way. Remember that stars cannot shine without darkness. I could feel the chains of Cetus piercing my chest from millions of miles away.


I think I look like a raccoon by 11:45. No dimly lit bathroom could make me shed this skin. I writhe like a snake, but I have never been able to rid myself of this veil over my eyes and body.


At least he was honest. Could it be that this isn’t real, that this is something I’ve made up in my head; a result of external influence? Stifle it. I didn’t know it yet, but it would take me years to even say the word out loud.


She said that friends don’t hold each other like that, and I guess she’s right. She looked at me, and I swear that I could feel elephants dancing inside my body.


The man in the purple glasses said that there is nothing abnormal about me. I’m not sure that I believe him.


The boys frighten me. They’re far too intense, too driven for this.


I keep drawing ballerinas; elegant lines and arabesques gracing the shining white pages in front of me.


I think I can tell by the heels of his shoes. I’d never met anyone else like me before.


I’ve never felt so different.


I posed an existential crisis at 17, and I let myself fade into black at a single tug of the chain. I am Andromeda, the lady in chains, and I lost myself between the can’s and the can’ts, the should’s and the shouldn’ts. I have written an epitaph to who I no longer am; I am no longer afraid to allow myself to breathe.

Qui vivra verra.

I am, I am.



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