It is through the unruly vineyards of my neurotic mind,
which laid to waste my ability to sleep at night,
that I write to you:
I wanted freedom, not forgiveness.
I wanted a way out of this goddamn labyrinth.

What lies inward is something vicious, tongue-twisted.
And it says, Those sapphire skies are crystal lies, baby!

Anger seeps my marrow, black and red
like the black widow’s bulbous hourglass belly.
I possess taint.
The venom in my mouth went straight to my head.

I wish I could wear a sign around my neck,
a dangling warning of me that proclaims:
“Fucking nightmare.”
And then I could retort:
“Damn straight. See you there.”
Or does that make me more desperate that I was at fifteen and sixteen,
in bedroom self-quarantine,
with rat’s nest hair?

“But why are you so full of rage?” they ask.

“Mourning,” I answer. “Like anger turned blacker.
Like a snapped string on a violin.
Like cracking the mirror but wanting it to shatter.
Like flashing a bloody grin.
You don’t seem to understand
that air see-drawn daggers
have become my friends.”

There is no destined course.
No cobblestone street to comfort the dark horse.
The justice the world has denied me
I instead created from my own autonomy.
That must be worth something of a saintly kind:
to survive.

But be it ever so slowly,
just as the Caribbean shelf
backwards inclines—
that strike by strike,
footprint by footprint,
ink by indelible ink
we can get better.

And rise as I will among the weeds,
knowing that some flowers bloom
despite the concrete,
I concede to choose it; I am
never going to get to leave.
To know this is to have forgiven.
To know this is to have grieved.

---

Katie Larson is a 25-year-old disabled woman and native Californian. She is an aspiring writer, poet, and mixed media artist. She has been previously published for her photography and poetry in FLARE Magazine, along with being published for her poetry in both HNDL Magazine and Wishbone Words Magazine. You can find her on Instagram: @iamktb14!