"Survival looks likewaking up at 12pm,
after the sun has risen,
the flowers have bloomed,
and there’s nothing for me to do.
looks like cherry trees blossoming
in my grandmother’s backyard,
never sweet enough to pluck,
fall of the tree to rot before i get a taste
looks like addiction and wasted passion
looks like seeing my body in the mirror
and never being satisfied,
but eating anyway,
looks like mango juice dripping from my fingers
as i sit on the shore in my country
feeling both at home and removed.
looks like knowing what words i will speak to my children only ever in French,
because they don’t feel the same in my mouth in any other language,
even though i don’t know the language.
looks like running away to cities far from my own.
looks like the feeling when i return,
the feeling that i might not belong to any city, any place
rather that i belong to them all
leave a piece of my heart in other states, other countries
tattoo a moment, a feeling, on my body,
keep it forever.
looks like healing.
hurts like healing."