From the Blue Veins in my Right Wrist to my Chest’s Western Waters

I am 16 when I realize,

that longer-than- necessary showers,

are the perfect remedy when under,

the weather of an existential crisis.

The time to stare into your hands,

and watch as the water bends,

around your wrinkled fingers.

A reminder that, in your complexity,

You are still human.

You are complicated, but,

far too predictable than you know.

I am 16 when I learn,

that none of the fingers,

on the right hand have,

a direct connection to the heart.

Though, I remember yesterday,

spilling my heart out with,

poetic curls of my right hand fingers,

above the thin, white nothingness,

that transformed into inky beauty.

I am 16 when I remember,

that I don’t like how I look.

I stare down at my wrists,

and I’m surprised that I’m,

not built of glass slightly shattered.

I recognize my blue veins,

like waves of the oceans,

vivid stretches of life that,

will never hide in times when,

life is a barren, heavy desert.

They will look back when,

we challenge our continued existence.

I look up from my wrist,

and I pray that the Heavens,

will part the waters so I, too,

can make it through the depths.

I glance back and I notice how,

my two mortal lifelines diverge.

I am 16 when I realize that I have,

the privilege of feeling the sand,

beneath my feet as I walk amongst,

the waters I thought would drown me.

I am 16 when I make my way,

from the blue veins in my right wrist,

to my chest’s western waters.