leaking lines

each poem,
each line,
each time
i grab my notebook
is just another way of me asking myself
"am i me yet, am i me yet,
am i who i want to be yet ?"

& maybe that's the problem,
i don't always recognize my name

it's possible that i have been sulking for too long,
it's possible that i am living my life entirely wrong,
it's possible because

i was not hungry the last time i swallowed my pride
i was not scared the last time i slept with a light

& i cry so much, people worry
i can't always help it, sometimes i just start leaking
i've never been one to control my feelings

& the truth is,
i learned the alphabet backwards when i was five years old
i can string sentences about my sadnesses until my head starts spinning

but i never learned what to do with my hands when i'm talking

& i still don't really know what my dad thinks of me

& i never quite figured out how to not blush at a compliment

but i know, that sometimes
it takes a fire to bring the forest back to green
& i know i have a fire
i'm just waiting for the seeds
to start sprouting out from me
& onto my page

for me to write something
that will let me be saved

i know there is a chance i might always be looking around
there is a chance god may never be found
there is a chance that i might not exist next week
there is a chance i'm just a waste of ink

but what if i wasn't
what if my words could write a map,
take me back
to my real home, one with a welcome mat

i think that it would all be worth it
that this would all be worth it

my mother told me there's some words that are left better unsaid
& maybe she's right
but i'm going to make sure they are read