I've grown up:
both in height
and in spirit.
My smile's a little
wider now.
I call myself a
fighter now.
My father says
he's proud of me.
Brighter eyes
see better grades
with better grades
come better days.
Look at all of these things,
like music and art,
that I can do
if I just try.
My father says
he's proud of me.
Although I still feel
a depressive ebb,
the tingle of an anxious mind
the severity has weakened
I am in control, no longer
controlled.
My father
says he's proud of me
(softer this time).
Looking back,
the light in my eyes
is what cause the light bulb
to flicker in the realization:
those pills were not meant
for saving me.
I am perfectly capable
of doing so.
My father
says he's proud of me
(hushed and subtly).
I saved myself;
once life was in my hands,
I coddled it gently as if
it were my child,
because I want my life
to treat me gently
and bless me with grace.
If you are blessed,
your father's approval means
less and less.
Deep within you,
is your own beautiful form of pride
awaiting to blossom through
your rib cage.
My father
says he's proud of me,
I angle my chin high,
eyes as bright
as the day before,
and say:
"ME TOO."
-a.g.
