man i thought you were talking in another language that day

fourteen

at Tim Hortons with my father and mother

we spoke in ways we had never spoke to each other

they told me the way I was feeling is temporary,

and it was going to get better. they hugged me while

the tear-soaked white shirts turned black smudged

the kinds of sobs that are breath- stealing, overlapping

and heartbreaking. i was fourteen.

at 1701 Lake Lansing Road i hid in the bathroom

shaking before my first appointment with

my psychologist. the protective layer of the person

i was known to be was cracking apart, leaving flakes

of weakness and embarrassment all over the

too-shiny tile floor of Perspectives Therapy.

i was fourteen.

staring at the hideous geometric pattern on the

waiting room floor, my eyes filled to the brim with

burning angry tears, the kind you are trying so hard to

hold in that you feel the fume coming from yourself. you

are so bothered by my problems you have to hire a stranger

to solve them for me? my eyes brimmed until the geometric pattern

became nothing but a blur of colors. the green chairs made my back ache.

it matched the ache inside of of heart. I didn't want to go down the long

hallway for the first time. i was fourteen.

walking down the hallway with one left turn and two right

I sat on a couch with too many pillows, the room bright as if

fun fabrics could fill the void of missing happiness inside of me

i talked to a woman with short black hair who said “okay” in the

most abstract way. She shoved fidgeters in my hands that snapped,

swirled, clicked, and buzzed to ease my mind from the anxiety in my head

a person i had met for the first time in my life, trying to solve my

problems with that even I don’t know how to deal with, in a compact room

i sat there, fourteen.