I want to make marks
on your body.

Thin stinging fingernail trails
forming paths across your back.

Shallow-bitten divots
adorning your neck.

Burning palm-sized patches
staining your skin.

I want to hear your response
when people ask
who?

Too young for unforgiving teeth,
Green and bitter.
But you thought I was ready
for your love.

Potential wishes,
Newborn dreams and aspirations
waiting for their turn
in a world of cynics.
Will they ever have a chance to fly?
Optimism
is
dead.
But still, they wait patiently.
Just to fall and bear
a new generation, stuck in the same place.