Artwork by Heather de Cosier.

I was born in Iran

The same year my Grandmother died

I can’t seem to come to terms with the grief I feel over someone I never knew

I’m a sucker for a childhood I never had with people who tried their best but couldn’t quite help me

I’m still learning how to heal 

I’m still getting to know myself 

I was born in a home I don’t remember and I’ve been trying to find myself ever since

I like my mother’s cooking a lot

I’ve been told I don’t ask for help as often as I should

I can’t seem to be comfortable with being comfortable 

I feel fragile, less like a flower and more like a bomb

Secretly, I get really nervous every time I talk to someone new

I have an odd fascination with all the instances where the world has failed me 

I have an odd fascination with preventing the world from failing another child, a child that feels so small and defenseless and alone that sometimes it becomes suffocating

I assume this fascination stems from my desire for justice and to, somehow, save myself from insanity 

I guess that’s why I’m so loud and lack a sense of shame

You see, my brashness reminds me that I’m not afraid of speaking my mind or the consequences

But I’m scared to death of everything that’s going to happen the very moment that I am left alone with my self-destructive thoughts

I’m mangled 

Yesterday I tripped over my paranoia, landed on my trauma, and it shattered like my mind 

I’ve never broken a bone, but I have this inability to put myself back together

I know this sounds weird, but I wonder what my flute says about me when I’m not around

I wonder if it’s relieved to be away from me if it’s repulsed by my touch, or maybe, it misses my company and also feels isolated 

Hi, my name is Rey

I enjoy the sky, music, and feeling loved

But I don’t feel comfortable in my skin as often as I should

I writhe and scream in agony, I wish to be free

I have a solar-powered mind

And a batter-operated heart

My hobbies include: crying, sleeping, and feeling like I’m not enough

But I don’t want to be pitied. I want to be seen as strong 

Constantly editing my emotions 

Hiding behind formalities and small talk