they broke the mold when you arrived,

a breath in the universe, yet

unlike the stars or the void,

unlike anything that ever was.

you, a silhouette dancing on the canvas of existence,

a burst of wildflowers in a barren field,

a melody sung only once in the chorus of time.

you are not the echo or the

shadow or the sameness,

that the world so often regurgitates.

you are unprecedented,

the unfathomable,

the singular.

and in your wake,

the mold lies shattered,

a testament to your unique song,

an ode to the rhythm of your existence,

a tribute to you, who is like no other.

Bloodshot Eyes. dim interior.

Faint smell of burning,

smoke dancing,

A recently extinguished candle.

Moonlight,

shadows draped across the floor

your hand possessing my throat.

Sound, never escaped.

Nor did I.

If someone were to hand me a blank piece of paper and told me to answer the question that was on the paper, and the question asked me, “How are you feeling right now?”, I would’ve left it blank, not solely because I didn’t know how to properly convey my feelings into words, but because there was no other way to explain my feelings perfectly than that.

If I could search for the one thing I lost, it would be the thing I lost first.

My girlhood.

I lost it before I knew what it was; what it meant to even be a girl. I think I lost it too young. It was first taken from me when I was born, fighting for my life in the hospital. It was taken from me at five when my mother would ignore me, and my dad would punish me for simply being a little kid. It was taken from me at eight when I was abused by a family member. It was taken from me at nine when my older sister never wanted to spend time with me, or did sisterly things. I couldn't understand why she didn't want to play with me. Girlhood was taken from me when I would get made fun of for playing with Barbies and liking the color pink. So, I stopped playing with toys, started crushing on boys, and switched to the color blue. Girlhood was taken from me when I realized I couldn't keep a female friend in elementary school; I thought there was something wrong with me. Girlhood was taken from me before I reached 13 because I had to act like an adult and treat my older brother as if I was the older sister instead. Girlhood ended for me when I saw all the girls in my class looking and acting like normal teenagers, and I always felt so out of place. I saw everyone out with their friends, doing normal teenage girl activities, not me though. Girlhood ended for me when my sister had her first baby at 20. As I got older, I was treated as just an aunt and fill-in babysitter, and no longer a kid or younger sister. No longer a person. Girlhood ended when my mom only chose men above her own kids. My girlhood ceased to exist at 17 when the doctors told me I would never be able to have kids. My girlhood stopped when the depression overtook me and controlled my entire life. I guess the question is: Did I lose my girlhood, or did I ever really have it at all? I just wanted to have a normal life, be free to be a girl, in a girl-loathing world; in a girl-loathing family. I've never been able to experience real girlhood, and I've been desperate to get it back. I don't want to continue getting older and realizing that I missed out on so much. I want to find it again, and embrace it. I've been thinking a lot about girlhood recently. Does anyone know how to rediscover girlhood?

Loneliness, a mysterious companion, walks beside me, its shadow stretching across my emotions. It's a paradox, suffocating yet oddly comforting. It whispers like a haunting melody, weaving tales of isolation, leaving an ache within.

In its presence, the world feels distant, veiled by mist, and the weight of emptiness is overwhelming. Loneliness is an echo that reverberates through the heart, a yearning for connection.

But amid the darkness, it teaches. It compels introspection, forcing me to confront myself. It is a crucible of self-discovery, where solitude fosters growth, unlocking hidden strengths.

Physically alone, emotionally entangled, loneliness is transformative. It's a dance with solitude, a struggle for equilibrium. In these moments, I learn self-compassion, a balm for wounds.

Loneliness weaves its narrative uniquely. It is both burden and gift, an invitation to embrace the human experience in all its shades. Within this vast emotion lies the promise of connection, like stars shining in the darkest night.