Poem by Kaitlyn Lafferty // Photograph by Harriet Donovan
Poem by Kaitlyn Lafferty // Photograph by Harriet Donovan
letting go of
words i never
understood
before i
understand
standing in front
of mirrors
for hours
wanting to
trim my bangs
i told myself
months ago
i would
time seemed to
escape
time seemed to
i’m looking
through bits of
hair falling
just beneath
my eyebrows
looking out of
eyes
when do you become
who you say
you are
high school
teachers explaining
how they teach
halfway in the year
after months
of locked in
of sleep in
myself
skinned self
i say
i listen to this when
i am
writing in tiny
letters
writing in tiny
words
writing in my
tiny voice
tiny sketches
with my barely moving fingers
of tiny
tired of
let me get it all
down before
i understand
the words on my
shoulders
the curve
of the letters
that match
the arch of
your back
in salmon colored
mornings
i collect scraps
of myself
i am
child
i am
unknowing
i am
vulnerable
i am
weak
i am
dependent
i am
malleable
i have no way of
knowing
please
forget me
please
let me forget
letting go
to understand
i’ve never
let go
halfway in my life
i am this
i am this
i am:
when do you know what you
say is who
you are
when do you know
who you are
in scribbled verses
on palms
in sheets
on thumbs
on fingernails
when do you know
the words
you say
aren’t lost
in translation
when do you know
the world you see
is the world you know
you know
you know
is the world you see
high school teachers
explaining how they teach
halfway in the year
when do you know
who you say you are
is who you are
and not words of hope scribbled in
places you wish it were
bottom of feet
palms of hands
in my eyes
eyebrows
where my untrimmed hair rests,
when do you know
you’ve let go
