nineteen
cigarette burns
keep your chin up
because blood is only temporary
skin on skin
what is within
is butterfly wings
and your wings aren't clipped
like a bird's
they flow like poetic words
and f. scott fitzgerald taught me
how to be desperately in love
with what i can't have
or maybe i taught myself
great gatsby only broke
and probably not so great
smile so bright that you blind them
and the ghettos scream with light
because you might not win
but ****, will you learn