#anyway thank you hen for the opportunity to yell about Hiroto's fraught ass relationship with her captaincy as always

[queen-eevee]

hiiiiii hiroto + 31?

I would be lying if I didn’t say this poem was Heavily inspired by Jane Hirshfield's "It Was Like This: You Were Happy."

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31: Volunteer by Bitter Ruin

At the end of the day, it went like this:

You raised your hand. You were picked. You signed the paperwork before the ashes settled because your team had a season to finish. You were not suited for the role; you were the only volunteer. You became the captain.

You lost teammates. You gained new ones. You lost friends, and there were no replacements. You dug holes in the outfield—left field, right field—past the grass line, under the stands, around the dugout. You cleaned the dirt off your jersey, your cleats, your gloves. You washed your face after games. You wore your hair shorter. You held your head higher. You took your laughter's loudness and pushed it into your pitches. You ate pomegranates and ripe currants, peeled clementines for waiting hands. You rinsed blood from your scalp and pressed wet washcloths to bloodied faces. You didn't win any championships. You stopped losing teammates. You penned postcards to the girl you were afraid to love and you threw bottles into the River's pallid tide. You grew to hate the smell of char. You learned to hate the tang of blood. You pitched until you fit the accolade of "best" and moved the expectations to "perfect." You watched a god die. You cursed two more for good measure. You swallowed fire and didn't burn. You called yourself happy and meant it. You forgave the girl who put you here. You prayed to the gods you loved. You dug more holes. You took naps on your teammates' couches. Sometimes, they would say something to make you laugh out of sleep, and the dreams behind your eyes would burst into color.

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Send me a number and a character and I'll write a poem inspired by my Spotify Wrapped!