Little girl
Made of glass
You have grown
Far too fast
Straight plains of skin
Have become curved
Striped with unfading bruises
Harsh and purple against fish-white skin

Mature for your age
That is said kindly to you
Surprised murmurs follow
Your fathers favorite guessing game

“Whats her age?”
He asks, innocence crinkling his eyes
Guesses of sixteen and seventeen
Outnumber anything else
Thirteen, you feel proud

It’s not his fault
That you start to believe these strangers
Mature for your age
Isn’t that the same thing
As being old enough?

Looking at a computer screen
but seeing blue skies;
brain frying in radiation,
body floating in the open ocean.
Heels on concrete,
grass between toes.
Pounding on computer keys,
pricking on cactus spines.
Thinking of brand conversion
but dreaming of the Grand Canyon.
Impersonating relevance,
giving my rhymes a rest.
A fool for freedom
but a tool for currency.

every boy i ever know
always calls me cute
i am not a pretty girl
i am not a beautiful girl
i am not a strong girl
i am a twig
a vulnerable stick
that easily blows away in the wind
a boy messages me
they say im hot
they want my body
not my heart
the only boy who ever called me beautiful was a boy i used to love but who never truly loved me back
a boy called me beautiful the other day
he made my night
until i realized it was the curls in my hair and the dress on my body
he made me feel good in that moment
but those feelings never last

why am i always writing about you
why did you pull me aside today
and said you needed to talk to me
you don't understand how many things ran through my head
you lifted my expectations
and then you let them fall to the ground
every time i see you
i want to tell you how much you mean to me
i want you to know what it is you make me feel
but i will never be able to explain it
you tell me to date another boy
you play with me like a toy
you ask me why don't i like him and
my heart screams and my brain aches
because all i want to do is say
it's you

Today, my friends were sitting at our lunch table
My four friends sitting around me
We were talking about death and funerals
My one friend said,
“I’m dying first.
I’m dying before all of you.
So that I don’t have to go to any of your funerals.”

And I thought to myself
Isn’t that funny?
How she stated, as a-matter-of-factly
That she is going to die first

It’s funny because I almost died before her
When I tried to **** myself
Lucky for her, I guess, I failed