when I’ll meet Me.

if we have already met but are not on speaking terms.


what my mother’s mother looked like.

what my father’s father smelled like.

which part of this body that I critique so much is actually an heirloom.


if pain will always be a prerequisite to happiness, for Bodies like mine.

what they see when they see me, and Bodies like mine.

if they will ever care for Bodies like mine,

          as much as Ours must care for theirs.


when I’ll finally see

my Self as beautiful,

                    my Presence as necessary,

                             my Voice as worth hearing.


why it’s so hard for me to love Me.

why I struggle to see the greatness that I possess,

          as clearly as I see the greatness that I want.

why I so quickly project greatness onto other people.


why I’ve had to wait this long.

why I’m still waiting.

why I ever wasted Wonder on someone like that.

if anyone has ever Wondered about me.

if —when I finally find It— I’ll let myself keep It.                                        


if my mother wonders.

if my father stopped wondering.

if They’ll tell me what it was like.

if They’ll give me their blessing,

or if They fear I might do the same.


how the Soil will feel beneath Me, when I go.


where this journey will take me.

(am I “taking” it?)

if I ever imagined that I’d be here.


if I’ll let ever give myself permission,

to stop waiting for permission,

[to wonder] .

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