Hair tangled down her back

Windows open

She’s laughing and crying

I’m lucky

I get to see both sides

I see the crafted persona

the side we all show to the world

And I get to see her take her makeup off

And take her days out of the trashcan

She spreads them out for me on the floor, stories and mistakes and songs

That authenticity is a gift

Those layers are what remind me that she’s mine

If the world was a fabric, we’d be of the same red thread

Our blood on the playground and our dolls in the treehouse

Everybody is a different type of heavy

But it’s all okay

even when it isn’t