I have a lot of nicknames,
but I’d like you to call me Pumpkin.
I’m red-headed and full of so much bullshit
no one wants to deal with.
I embarrass myself everyday
and most of the time I look like I’ve lost my map.
A doctor once told me I get dizzy spells
because anxiety can make you unbalanced.
I think my body gets seasick
from all the storms I follow.
You can call me Pumpkin,
cut and carve me—jack-o-lantern.
Hollow me out
and bury your hands in my guts
take out my seeds,
pull out my seeds,
rip out my seeds
to try and find my tremble.
Squeeze through my grief, silent beneath the lies I’ve woven
into the patchwork of my chest.
Sometimes there’s nothing left
except a face that smiles hollow,
but I promise there’s still a fire behind it
to put a glow back in your cheeks.
Some days, I just have to tell myself:
It’s not going to be that easy.
Don’t beat yourself up because it took you way too long
to understand the sadness you didn’t mean to bury.
You can keep fighting the good fight,
even when there doesn’t seem to be a right side to choose.
In war, there’s never a winner.
Don’t fight against what you feel
and let your heart do the talking sometimes.
There’s more honesty there anyways.