I don’t wear a red cape.
I can’t scale buildings like a salamander or leap across canyons
twenty miles wide. There are more ghosts between my sheets at night
than the ones who knock on my neighbors’ doors at Halloween
begging for tootsie rolls and instant popcorn.
My first thought upon opening my eyes in the morning is how to stop
permanently waking up on the wrong side of the bed.
And my version of self-love is like the game of tearing petals off daisies,
except each and every one stands for “I love myself not, I love myself not.”
But that does not mean I don’t have superpowers;
they’re just a little hidden, like flower bulbs beneath frozen ground.
I may not save people from flaming windows or dangling fire escapes,
but that does not automatically erase the victory
of trying to save myself every day. And let me tell you, that is a battle
so hard to win: I have been so thirsty for oblivion
that eventually my veins got dehydrated when I tried to unzip them.
So I learned how to take the watering can of my own blood
and filled them back up, filled them to the brim,
and not letting a single drop spill took superhuman strength, let me tell you.
I may not have huge biceps that could rip a phonebook in half
without even straining a muscle, but my heart is a muscle too,
and like any muscle it gets sore. Bandages and antiseptic
are supertools too. It just took me awhile
to figure out how to use them properly.
I don’t wear a red cape.
I can’t scale buildings like a salamander or leap across canyons
twenty miles wide. I don’t have a huge S emblazoned across my chest.
My superpowers come from teaching myself how to survive
when all I wanted to do was be one of the people
that heroes are supposed to save.