I am no Daisy Johnson,

no kickass Savior or
Destroyer
of Worlds. Still, you called
me Tremors. A shaky
nickname for an earthquake-y
human. Whatever weakness it was,
you styled it
my superpower. In spite of
sense. Honored
my fragility.
Once named, I wasn’t
afraid. Of breaking anything.
 
This poem isn’t
any good. Still, I have to write
it. Because I miss
you. I miss you
r nonchalance. I miss. Not being an
emergency. Only, you are
The Cavalry.
In spite of
gruff exterior. Pretending you are
not trying to save me. You are. Were.
Trying to save me.
Iris, you never let the little girl
go. You just forgot she
was you.