I see you,
and all I want to do is make you smile
with a deep belly laugh
that stretches from fingertips
to the toes that wiggle in the sandbox
trying to be free and feel
anything at all.
I see you
as I look at old photos crinkled
at the edges like signs of elderly wisdom –
something denied you – your eyes,
too ancient and pained for your years,
staring out at me from glossy paper,
begging to know the expiration date
of suffering.
You will hear many things growing up –
be silent and not heard,
spare the rod, spoil the child,
you’re too loud,
too radiant,
too ignorant,
too smart for your own good –
the words of inmates in prisons
of their own making,
crafted from nonexistent, binary ideals
that wash away like dust in a downpour,
created by the false gods they worship,
idols made in their own image
to erase the diving imprint in you,
saying, “I brought you into this world,
and I can take you out of it.”
I see you
when you couldn’t see yourself on those
dark nights of the soul,
and I stand in awe of you
surviving, clinging to courage and hope
while stranded on islands of fear,
marking off the days as you secretly
commit the unpardonable sin:
rescuing yourself.
I see you,
and all I want to do is to give you a hug,
embarrass you with my pride,
and whisper that your defiant curiosity,
a living thing hidden deep inside you,
sparkling like a forbidden pirate’s treasure,
will be the very instrument to
set you free.
I see you.
