you ask about it, eyes still bright,

for the first time

in mama’s bed while she braids your hair.

she goes red and pulls,

hard;

and says “don’t be stupid,”

and says “you don’t know what you’re talking about”.

​

later, you wake up to shouting

and watch her sweep up

the shattered glass from the kitchen floor

and you think

is that all there is?

​

you wonder about it in primary school,

when you’re holding hands

with your coloring partner,

her pigtails swinging in the dusty summer wind

sharing the orange you brought in your little lunchbox

and when you put your lips to her hand

like they do on tv

the world looks a little brighter afterwards

​

later, you’re sitting in the

discipline office,

and after the beating he tells you:

you can hug, but never

kiss

another girl

and you think

is that all there is?

​

you pick the roses from the back garden,

— only the yellow ones, it’s her favorite color

and you sneak kisses

in the dark of the macbeth play

and amidst the cheer of rallies

and in the locker after gym period

and this is high school and this is america and

you feel

free,

until her parents find out and

one morning she is in your arms and

the next she’s

gone

and you never hear from her, again

 

later, baba asks you why you’re still crying

your soul out onto your pillowcase

it’s not your fault,

he tells you,

she was just a friend and,

friends come and go and that’s

life;

and you think

is that all there is?

 

the summer before college

you roadtrip with your parents,

and the rolling california hills are

a beautiful emerald green

your throat is tight and your lips hot

when you ask them for the second time,

this time tentative,

this time scared,

and baba swerves into the side of the

highway;

“unnatural”, “wrong”, “grow out of it”

strike you in quick succession.

you will never ask again.

​

later, you hear that your

sister-in-law

will never bear the grandchildren your

mama so dearly wants to hold

and the weight of the world, as always,

falls to you,

and you think

is that all there is?

​

you pick out birth control like

fruit,

swallow the blue pills like

candy,

and try to feel

something

when “no” means

nothing,

even when it’s sorrow

even when it’s pain.

​

later, after that relationship

ends,

and you tell your friends you’re

learning to be alone;

but when they leave and doors close you

keep your bed warm

with body after body

but none of them, not one,

is enough to melt the ice in your bones;

and, nails clawing into bare skin,

you think

is that all there is?

​

scars bloom before they fade,

and your arms are a field of flowers,

stained indigo by the

setting

sun

​

later, you’re alone and it’s silent

and there is nothing,

just cold, sad, lonely nothing,

and you’re sure

that’s all there ever will be.

​

​

​

she sends you pictures of

cats

and makes sure you wake up

in the mornings

and her laugh is

oh,

her laugh is

the glow of dawn against fresh snow,

the dusk light spilling over clouds

it’s

the summer sunshine

the brilliance of stars

capable of illuminating

the most violent violet galaxies

​

later, you wake up to a phone call

you wake up to a message from her,

and you are safe,

and you are happy,

and you are free

 

and what anyone else thought,

what they told you,

what they beat into your skin

never

mattered

 

and those tired, dusty, lonely years

were never all there was;

 

they fade

under the brilliance of our

technicolor

love.