When I Am Tired, Remember Me

I am so happy and so tired —
two small children curled in my ribs,
holding hands as I drift off
into the gentle dark.

Tonight I wish to close my eyes
and open them as a child again,
safe in my mother’s arms,
no heavy crowns of expectation
pressing my head down to my spine,
no tomorrow waiting with its teeth.

It is hard to be grown —
to stand tall enough for everyone’s hopes
and still carve a tiny corner for my own.
It is hard, but oh —
how I love you all.
I love my friends who stay awake with me
in the hush between two exams.
I love my family whose names are a prayer
stitched behind my tongue.
I love this little lighthouse I built here —
this page, this room, this safe breath
where soft souls gather to be seen.

Sometimes — just sometimes —
I float through the fog of old laughter,
ghost hands, faces I lost
before I knew how to hold them.
I am only twenty,
but my heart has learned
the language of loss
and still chooses to speak love
again and again.

So listen, my gentle ones:
one day I will go —
not yet, but someday —
and when I do, remember me
like an old song,
like a candle you once held in a storm.

Remember me from these poems,
these silver threads I weave
when sleep forgets me.
Carry me in your softest places —
in your laughter, in your tears,
in the quiet moment
before you close your eyes.

May you live happy —
may you live soft —
and when you see the moon,
know that somewhere,
I am resting too,
dreaming of the child
who never had to grow so fast.

by Onnaya