i remember every headache reminiscent!
a taste of burnt oranges like little
flames of flames of oceans like vents
at the bottom of my Being that bubbled up
all stupid words and furrowed brow

i know exactly how much weight is in an “i love you”
and in weighing them obsessively 5 am with a bottle
of god-knows-who from dad-knows-where i realized
it doesn’t really matter as much as highschool seems.

don’t tell me i don’t know anything
my soul is older than
the bark of the trees in my backyard,
as i still hear them
flirting with the birds as if things are
possible at all

(no judgement. i used to do the same
boys and girls and cut and run
just toys that whirl with waterguns)