You spend your whole life convinced of it:
that you are not really a girl,
but a black hole
a void that nothing can fill
God cursed you with lips that are always hungry
a stomach that only knows how to be empty
and hands that could hold the whole world
but yet still want more

and you are alive,
but you are not living
Too young to be an adult
too cynical to be a child
You spend your life in the moment
right before disaster strikes,
and it's all over in a blink
You spend the first fifteen years blinking,
in the second before your car goes
careening off the cliff
until one day, you realize it:
you can't feel the black hole anymore
and you don't know the last time
you felt that empty

So what was it,
that filled the hole that couldn't be filled?
What was it that turned you from
the moment after the bullet left the gun
and before it struck the target,
back into flesh and bone and girlhood?
Was it the lemon-sour boy with sweet lips
and hands that could hold the world,
but instead, they chose to hold you
Or the salt and sweat girl who shares your blood
and has kinder eyes than anyone's
that you've ever seen before?
Was it the skin that finally covers your bones,
all muscle and fat and subcutaneous tissue,
or was it the melatonin and oxygen
that finally started pumping in your blood?
Or maybe was all of these
and a special secret ingredient
I like to call resolution -
the freedom acceptance gives you
to eat ice cream and sleep
without worrying you have to earn
your right to be alive

Maybe,
it really wasn't my fault.