Every day
I go down the rabbit hole.
Someone I do not know
is hearing in colors
Someone I think I know
is dreaming in black and white
Someone I pass, silently,
is screaming inside of themselves
words that aren’t in order
because they don’t know how to say
“Please help me.”
Every day
I trace the scars my eighteen year old
fingers made
when I didn’t know how to say what I meant, either.
Every day
there is someone
fighting to be heard
or
wishing to disappear
and
someone I don’t know is tracing their own scars.
The rabbit hole
doesn’t seem so terrifying
Knowing there is a ladder to climb
if you build it.
Knowing
there is a way out.
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