Jesse

dear tall child, your bones probably don't fit your frame yet; they shift awkwardly, and your spine hunches and slopes. your hands are likely to be dry and grimy, legs speckled with ant bites that sting like fire. spending those arid days snatching lizards off the hot terracotta wall, next to the withered rose garden belonging to your shouting mother. unfortunately for you, the shouting will never stop; your mother will bleed her vocal chords raw trying to scare out your soul to place of her own. there will be so much hardship, but you will learn so so much. so much. to drown the world out, just think about horses. she will see you as strange no matter what you do just hop in the saddle tighten the reins, grip the mane, put your filthy Velcro sneakers into the stirrups, and think about horses. you will be a weird girl, it will hurt. but suffering is just suffering, and voices are just words. you will become a strange young man, dear cowboy- but you will always be that tall child. a dear, dear tall child