Band-aids.

This baby wakes up everyday

Praying the sun will set.

This baby fears the fan will fall

So she sits in the heat to melt.

This baby presses the bruises

On her calves till they turn

A deep, rich plum.

This baby can’t stand her thoughts

So instead of thinking, she hums.

This baby carries fear in her chest

With the weight of heavy stones.

This baby hides behind her silence,

Afraid to be known.

This baby feels so small

That her calves ache from the climb

This baby wishes she could

Poison her own mind.

This baby doesn’t speak and

Wonders why no one helps

This baby’s fears the future so much

she has started to fear herself.