I brought home a 91.2,
But she was saving her smile for 95.
A dress untouched in the closet
like joy, unworn,
like pride, unsaid.

My hands had trembled through every exam,
fingers sweating like they knew
the failure they’d bear.
My lungs forgot how to hold air.
The room spun, but I stayed.
I stayed.

But when she spoke,
It was a thousand paper cuts dipped in salt
"You should’ve had your cousin’s brain."
"You should’ve never been you."
Then,
"I love you."
How do you sew together such sentences?
When do they bleed on both sides?

I stood on the edge of goodbye,
But I remembered her smile
not the one she wears for photos,
But the one she dreams of wearing
When I finally become
Someone else.

So I stay.
I stay to see her true smile,
To see her “Happy” because of me for once.
I stay to keep her alive.
If my own heart festers,
It’ll serve as proof that
Love can rot and still be called love

Let me die a little each day,
To keep her alive.
Let me fill her void.
With my bleeding hands.
Let me become
the daughter they wanted
even if it kills
The one I am.

She’ll wear the dress, perhaps someday,
But not for me I’ve gone away.
And all the blood I couldn’t show,
Now waters roots she’ll never know.

.    .    .