it’s cold outside. no christmas carols, though,
because i’ve moved past the fingernails in
imaginary palms and the

undertones of maimed, threatening machine man.
red seeps through the cracks of me. red burns
on each callused tip of my hand.

boys will be what they are, hands and teeth, dead and loved,
villain and half-grown.
our matched chromosomes appreciate the silence.
i built five houses in the corner of my mind.

each made of rough hewn song. there are colorless thunderbirds
on the lawn. but the sky is still dead and warm.
instead, i sing out of the mouths of drives,

discs, wires, constructed wisdom. powered by mind
and trauma-prone memorization.
i look up and can’t see above

the barriers that replaced my bridges.
once, there were roses on our kitchen table
and my mother would sing native tongued and soft.

now, all i have is what i make
i don’t breathe for the sake of it.
sometimes all i want is to erase the air.

as if there was something left unsaid, but
no one will dare exhale it.

Sophie App-Singer is a 16 year old poetess, MCU stan, pastry chef and music lover. They are an advocate for social change, especially when it surrounds neurodiversity. They live in Oregon with their obnoxiously adorable King Charles Cavalier spaniels and their absolutely amazing family.