My Bones Told Me

People tell me I'm smart. But I don't understand the Space Camp prompt.

But I can tell you this. I want to be the kind of good that doesn't go away.

My bones told me I was fragile, but I didn't want to believe them. I didn't want them to tell me that I couldn't jump off buildings or I couldn't touch my toes. I didn't want them to tell me I wasn't invincible. And with all 206 of their voices competing for attention, the silence too loud, my lungs couldn't distinguish what was necessity, what was want, and what was a cry for help... And I still couldn't find the courage to pray to God.

My heart told me it was breakable. And I still didn't want to believe it even after I broke it myself.

My eyes told me that navy will never be the new black. That we all worship the 80's for their music, but we don't appreciate the 60's nearly enough.

My skin told me that it hurts from all the words I never say out loud. They told me, "Confidence looks real good on you, but you've never been able to shed society's expectations. You've never been able to get to the second skin." The expectations of the 9 to 5 job. The 9 to 5 job with the 12 to 5 body. I wanted to have it all, and then some.

I swear I'm living, but I've never laughed until I've cried. I've never bought those cheap rings in the gumball machines for 25 cents. I don't know if falling in love at fifteen counts with God, or if not being able to say "no" equals love, weakness, or something in between. I've never fully convinced myself of the brokenness of the human race. No matter how many times I tried.

I wanted to go to debate camp to learn how to say "fuck you" politely. But I think I learned it on my own.