A girl is a word without a definition.  I’m born to live as a word no one knows but me.  I have no context, no words around me who understand my definition.  Most other words haven’t even bothered to look me up except to use me—usually, abuse me because they’re trying to tell me what I mean.  But I can’t change my meaning to suit them.  I may not know what my meaning is, but I know it’s not what they’re telling me.  They force their meanings on me, never understanding I’m a new word they’ve never heard before, so new I haven’t even defined myself yet.  I’m still choosing what words I want around me.  I’m still creating a sound and a shape, practicing being something I like, something I can live with, something that sounds strong but sweet and bears good ideas in others’ minds.

Lately, I’m pushing my meaning too far.  As a result, I’m constantly shaky, fatigued, and frightened.  The things I care about suddenly lack significance.

It sounds like depression.  I know this feeling, the desire to cry and the choking feeling around my throat; it’s depression.

I’m floating on an imaginary line      losing

focus and going from

one meaning    the next

to

stop