before :: after

my father's hands, they're my own

my eyes my mother my cheekbones, the way my brother and i both

look straight at whomever we're speaking with;

they've just left, and i'm silenced.
the burning sensation traveling up through my throat, the small stream of water, soft down my face,

the way we make this difficult,
the way it wouldn't be if we didn't love each other this much.

if they want what's best for me,
and i want what's best for me,
then why is it terrifying?

and i second-guess what i want because i have it so good.

i am treated so well, and
i have no reason to leave, if you count reasons as things wrong with where you are.

i am pushing for my freedom,
i am that bird
kept hopping, keeping itself hopping
from one branch or
fencepost to the next

the bird you watch in its flight
and you love it, even when it flies,
and you know that flying's who it is,
and you love it
but it hurts
and

it's so alive...

i don't even know what i'm typing.

i'm going to be in england next year.

and that's why i'm sobbing.

you have to let me go because you love me.
but can i leave you?
but can i go?

give me up.

why does what i want and need have to be so painful?

sacrifices.
this is sacrifice, this is love,
this is

growing up.