and the universe held my hand by Thea Wilkens
CW: mental health, implied trauma, implied suicidal ideation, implied ED

in the city at night, the buildings gleam
whiter than milk teeth. buses scurry by,
packed full with people who today have laughed
or wept or sang, danced around the kitchen
with their good news, or carried their bad news
with them until the rain, begging their sorrows to turn
cloud-grey, rise, dissolve. tonight i walk
alone to the river & lean over the railings
of the observation deck. street lamp reflections
churn golden swirls into the black current: the only
constellations that have learned how to shine
through the pollution. i promise myself
that when i make it through this week
(because it is when now, not if, not anymore),
i will buy myself a frosted lemonade taller
than my head, & i will let my lips get sticky
with sugar, & i will name my hunger a blessing,
loving it as i love other animals.
thea wilkens (she/they) is a queer teen poet from central texas. she enjoys writing, music, art, and most other creative forms of self-expression. they have been writing poetry, novels, short stories, etc. since she could pick up a pen, and she has never been one to listen to people who tell them they are too young. when they're not writing, you can find her outside, with her friends, or sitting with her cat, mira. they have far too many books, and a slightly unhealthy obsession with thrifting, lucy dacus, and orchid mantises. you can find her on instagram at @dear.theodora, and pinterest at @muddylemons.