Changing Passports

I will need to change my passport soon.

Every stamp says to me –
Hey, you didn’t die yet. See the places

you can go? I flipped through
my passport in a coffee shop in Seoul

and for ninety minutes I watched
an internal movie of the moments
that made it worth being alive.

In my cinema: SF. HK. Places that
still smell like war – Vietnam, Korea

and I felt, right then, so fiercely proud
of myself that I
tasted it like a sickness
at the back of my mouth

and I thought of the beginning of the movie. How, when I was fourteen
every day hurt in the way that only
teenage days do

and I couldn’t answer a ringing phone
and I couldn’t shelve my pain on anyone else’s shelf

so I displayed it
sticky red and ultimate
on myself

and how I was lucky to see fifteen
and how, after everything
after ropes and pills and flights and lies I made it

God willing
to twenty-five and yes, I’m afraid
but I still take planes.

In that stamped
burgundy and gold bundle
are places that blunted the knife-edge

of being young
and bored and unhappy and

I guess I travel like I do everything I do
that is: to prove I exist.

Each pin stuck in the map
is one drawn from myself

like a voodoo doll, in reverse.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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