Strong hands Hands made to win Hands made to break things My hands, in all their glory

Once upon a time I thought I was the strongest That I could reach the top Without looking around to the others Around me

I’d pull them apart To put myself together Push them higher, Just so I could rise above them

Pushed the ones I loved away Because I thought them weaker And await my turn, boiling hatred To take the stage—

I’m not sure when I’d reached the cliff’s edge Not sure, when I realized I was falling It was only then, with the wind in my ears I heard you calling To me

Me, not my hands Looking into my eyes And not at what I could do I realized that I had destroyed So many in the wake of my own fear of fearing—

What’s left of me? Am I good enough to get better? Who’s left for me? When I broke hearts on silver platters?

I claw at this cliff, One, I realize, that I’ve been climbing Among everyone else- With everyone else

So then, what had I been seeing? Feeling? Smelling? Listening to?

I try to see it the way you do Watch you go, strong as me Yet, not as burnt by the force of your tragedy With hands, like mine But saves instead, not enslaves

I want to see what more there is To this reality We live in Show me

How to charge forward, side by side with the lot of them Wear the fear on my sleeve Brave means to move despite it, you say Not without it

I move, fiery burning I’m trembling, we all are And I wonder, not with jealousy But with curiosity If I’ll ever be able to reach where you stand

With these hands

I squint in the bright lights, hearing the muddled shouts of a crowd I cannot see. The sounds make me tingle so I shake out my hands and take a breath. They advertised these heels as comfortable, but the longer I stand in them, the more restless I feel. A throb is slowly making its way up my calves since I’ve been standing for so long.

But if I’ve done this before. I can do it again.

Stepping out unto the runway in my glimmering black dress, the cheers double. The applause sounds like crashing rain, but it’s warm and refreshing instead of biting cold. I fight to keep a smile off my face. Then a wince, when I feel a particularly sharp ache.

All lights are on me.

All eyes are on me.

I know they are smiling at me. For me.

I must bare it.

I want to say “I am Liana Richards, the most powerful woman alive. I’m unstoppable.”

But I don’t; my power is short-lived when I step off the runway and I’m ushered backstage by my manager. She smiles at me and I feel my own lips twitch up.

“You did great.” She says.

My cheeks grow warm, and my toe is starting to cramp, “Thanks.”

I excuse myself into the dressing room, pulling my shoes off with a sigh.

Pity, they’re a pretty pair. But I’m never wearing them again if I have a choice. (I most likely won’t.)

And my toes are flushed red once again.

Dear Mr. Roberts,

How are you? I am great! (If you delete the madness that was my life this week.) But I suppose you do not care for that… which is why you would not see me when I asked for you two days ago in the office.

I digress.

I am, in fact, a sinner.

I have no excuse for what I did, sir. No at all.

But because I am shameless, I’ll make one anyway. So here goes; I’ll build my case.

In theory, I believe I’m a decent teacher. I can explain information concisely and quiet a class with a stare alone. But creating a great relationship with my students? Not so much. We went to school together, sir. You and me. You know me and my social ineptitude. I’ve been told I smile like death itself. My jokes are not for the faint of heart.

Which is probably why you’re the only one who laughs. You’re rotten humor itself.

But anyways, I’ve been trying new building exercises with my students. I try to talk to them more outside of the classroom and ask them about their feelings despite not even knowing my own.

And you know what I realized? Food is the answer.

Food. Is. Everything.

So I promised a pizza party if everyone got higher then a 69% (haha) in the test. I didn’t expect much. You think I have the resources to buy pizza? You think I would spend my damn money on processed cheese? But apparently I had to freaking find some because no one got under 69. Those rascals are smart and they don’t even know it.

Needless to say, they loved me that day.

So I scrapped some cash together, had a party for them. And you know me, I saved a box for the staff. Especially for you.

But there was this one kid. He’s shy, no one really talks to him. And you know how brutal kids are; no one gave him a slice of the pizza. And all the other boxes were gone… so I offered him.

Mark my words, I said, ‘You can take as much as you want.’

He’s small, so I expected him to take one or two. Boy starts shoving slices down his nap sack like life depended on him. I didn’t let it show on my face, but I asked him, “Who are those for?“

He smiled, said, “My mom, my dad, my aunt, my uncle, my grandmother and my grandfather, my brother and my sister.”

It was an 8 slice pizza. Those are eight people.

I was about to ask him to stop, because , well, it was my personal box! His family could get food somewhere else. But instead, I asked, “But what about you, you didn’t take one for yourself?”

He smiled and said, “I did.”

“But you just said those are for your family.”

“They’re inside me.”

I started thinking of every triply anime I could and backed up only a little. Kudos to me.

“What?” I asked.

“They’re dead. I will eat in memory of them.”

I couldn’t tell him anything. So I left, pizza-less, confused about if he meant he ate them and killed them, or if they just…died.

But he smiled so sweetly, so I don’t know. I’m not about to ask that to a kid.

So I apologize, for I could not save you a slice like you hoped I would. I am gravely sorry for this transgression.

And tell you’re sister she’s free to send me postcards.

Sincerely, Hanna Banana

When I leave the principal’s office, there is silence. In my mind, because now I know. And then I realize it’s not my silence but the hush in the hallway. God help me.

They’re all watching me; I don’t know what to tell them. But now I know that they know.

Many thoughts run through my head, but none of them seem decent enough to say. They tangle like red yarn in a cat’s paw. I don’t like cats or yarn. I don’t like getting tangled either.

I watch some of them in the eye, thinking things I would never say out loud.

‘Sorry, I’m not who you thought I was.’

‘If you’re going to stare so hard, why not take a damn picture?’

I never chose myself. I didn’t make myself The Chosen One. But it does not help me feel less ashamed. Merida had said that perhaps there never was one and that it was rigged all along while I sat frozen in the office.

Like me right now, I didn’t know what to tell her.

But now I know that prophecies are crap meant to leave you hoping. It gives you an excuse to do nothing, to hope that some greater power will do it for you.

Prophecies are excuses to be listless. And I was the scapegoat to show it.

I fear the red coat my late lover owned

It rains blues outside, it’s so, so cold

I want to drown it out, the sound, the sound, the sound

The rain, the red, the blues, too loud

The rain, the red, the blues, too loud

I want to drown it out, the sound, the sound, the sound

It rains blues outside, it’s so, so cold

I fear the red coat my late lover owned

Some call is science, some say it’s madness Most say it’s fiction and a few are fanatics

I sit on the sand, I’m facing the sea The sun is sleeping on water for me

The sky whispers pink, but the stars don’t hide The constellations glimmering side by side

So shiny, it might not be stars at all Soundless minds would wonder to a seaside ball

Some say it’s science, some say I’m crazy Most say it’s fiction, maybe I’m lazy

Twinkle little star when my fingers curl Wouldn’t it be wonderful, at the top of the world?

Lonely Lily at the well Let me say good morning Listen to the birds today Lovely, as they’re soaring

Lonely Lily at the well Likely hard of hearing Let me water you today Lest the sun come daring

Lonely Lily at the well Lost while you’re still standing Luckily, I’ve got a sac of Lovely seeds for handling

Lonely Lily at the well…you Letter me a warning Load your truck, pack your bags Leave the place for mourning

Lonely Lily at the well Listless as I’m thrumming Love has got me useless now Love has got you running