For my hair, I put away the scissors.
For my lucky moments to blink in the right places, I am a photographer.
For my stage fright, I am a poet, or a singer (when I have enough water).
For my body, there are the quiet practices I commit to in the evenings.
For my soul, faithful recitations, when I am strong enough.
For my sanity I write, to serve when ripe.
For my library I am a lover.
For the rest of the books, a science major.
For my loved ones, laughter.

I never thought I needed anything else, but then you tell me that for my heart, you have balm. And you administer it gently, you don’t stop, even when your hands get burnt.