the forgotten one is searching for something,
wandering along the beach and picking up jagged seashells, scraping her hands
and letting the sand and salty water burn and mingle with her blood.
the perfect one is dancing for something,
hoping for someone to see past the red curls and startling blue eyes
to the girl who whispers late at night that beneath the
perfect makeup and body,
she’s no one worth knowing, nothing different.
the tangled one is looking for something,
in the eyes of another person and in the memories of herself
back when a few typed words made her feel like the happiest, craziest
and most beautiful girl in the world.
the honest one is writing for something,
sketching images with words that thrill the soul and break the heart, but coloring outside the lines with such
sweetness and sorrow that life becomes worth reading.
the one who’s lost it all is chuckling for something,
flipping through the black and white photographs in her mind,
pictures we can’t see and never hope to, but all have our own
strategically angled and selectively edited versions of.
the daring one is hunting down something,
as on a whim she travels to countries and worlds that are not her own,
that her heart has learned to belong to and made ours want to belong to as well, defending herself and defending you and defending me with lovely, frightening passion.
i promise, you’re not alone. we’re all hoping for, we’re all aching for,
that terrible something.
(this is one of those poems where if you think this is about you, yes, it is.)