3

from Drip Castles by Cecil, be more.

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lyrics

When I was too young to read
I fell in love with the lines on the palms of my hands
Because, apparently, they told stories of fevered sex lives and good fortune
My kindergarden teacher told me that life was a book, all planned out and predetermined
That god had gifted me with life and he had spent an eternity authoring its chapters

so, okay
god had personally written for me
the first time I cried in a bathroom by myself
how the day I learned to read was the same day my brother had gotten his first A in middle school math
and that before I turned twelve years old, four of my classmates fathers would never wake up again
he copied and pasted the nights I laid in bed with my own dad, feeling his heartbeat
keeping count until I fell asleep
he wrote a few hundred pages where I made friends with scarred children
the ones who became teenagers who never went to class and started taking dramamine too early
the ones who quoted modest mouse only when they were documenting drug use
and the ones who's friends died of overdoses before I was ready to deal with death
he called this chapter "the good times are killing me"

he had transcribed the draft of my life story into the pores of my skin
so people like you could read my biography while you were watching my chest heave
or biting the skin of my neck
you could know all about the biggest parts of me
even before I began to laugh with my mouth wide open or kiss you in the morning before brushing my teeth

so when I begin to feel safe enough to let go of the secondhand trauma or self-conscious leftovers
the author of my story is still the man who etched the lines into the palms of my hands
but you are the ghost writer
and the story is already changing