- Bless every poem about
trauma and struggle and loss
I have written thus far
for getting me this far.
Bless all the space
they needed to take up,
and bless them for
knowing when to step away.
Bless the songs I can't listen to anymore
because nostalgia and association
will be the death of me.
Bless the fact that I am not dead yet.
Bless the fact that I don't
know where my abuser is anymore,
and I am okay with that.
It doesn't mean I've forgiven him,
but it does mean I've forgiven myself.
- And bless my mother for believing me.
Bless my mother for driving
me to all the psych wards
then picking me back up after discharge.
Bless my mother for believing in me.
And bless my friends for carrying me home.
Bless my friends for making me whole.
Bless the cities of Boise and Houston.
Bless all of the light they
give us, even at night.
Bless all the rivers, even
when they want to overflow.
Bless the scars on my arms that faded,
and the ones on my face that didn't.
Bless all the ways I
spilled like metal secrets
against the floor.
Bless the glitter always on my hands,
and the becoming.
Bless the way my hair is
growing out right now.
Bless the meds that
worked until they didn't.
And bless the way that
I never stopped working.
Bless the fact that once,
I didn't think I knew how
to write a happy poem,
so bless all the cliches
I am learning to love
because I like being a happy person
more than I like being a good writer.
Bless vulnerability.
Bless bravery.
Bless whatever it is
that I'm doing right now
because everyone who has ever hurt me
has tried to make me quiet,
drown me in the frantic water.
I just learned how to endure.
This is not a survival song,
this is the song I sing
because I've survived.
The opportunity for the
joy I have always deserved
because I have always
deserved to take up space.
That's all.
That's all.
Thank you very much!
(audience cheering and clapping)
