The "Appropriate"

She is the only part of me that actually knows how to breathe.

This poem is inspired by my narrative series, ‘The Silent Witness‘, and my research series, ‘Where the Healing Begins’.

original ink by Brandi Lynn

I was seven when I learned to hold my breath
in the shape of a seated girl.
A statue of compliant clay,
smoothing the mess of my joints
into the straight lines of the classroom floor.

The Sentinel was born in the hallway.
A small, wide-eyed guard
tasked with watching the door
for the shadow of "too much".

I didn't know then that I was the origin.
I thought I was a failure of physics.
A high-voltage soul
trying to squeeze through a low-wattage life
until the fuses began to pop
in the marrow, 
in the heart,
in the jaw.

Fifty years of "I’m fine"
is a heavy weight for collagen to carry.

But the basement door is swinging open now.

The Ritualist is setting down the locks.
The Scholar is closing the heavy books.

And there she is,
the messy one, 
the weird one, 
the spark
wrapped in the gold I thought I’d lost.

She isn’t a disorder. 
She isn't a glitch.
She is the only part of me
that actually knows how to breathe.

The performance has folded its chairs.
The stage is dark, and the house is quiet.
I am stepping off the "same page"
and into the wild, un-ordered light.

I am finally, 
dangerously,
beautifully
uncontained.

                                                                                               With grit and grace, Brandi Lynn ♡

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