people i'm made of, a poem

my password is the birthday of a boy i thought i loved at fourteen

i live by the phrase ‘happy days’ because my childhood best friend always said it.

she was always right.

life has this funny way of putting people together

all the little pieces that slot together

formed by our interactions with the world

i pick up pinecones knowing my mother would have brought them home

and i eat radishes with butter and salt the way a man way too close to me once showed me,

my tattoos are innately a map of the places i’ve fallen in love with

and my hair is long like the sister i used to admire in my memories.

we are all intertwined with the people who make up our lives

Their souls littering our own with stamps

Their light adding colours to our hearts.