Tomorrow I tell the truth
Tomorrow I let you in

Currents
of electricity
tiny pulses that
barely roll off
my skin
my skin, shivering
not from cold
only vibrations
just under
your lips
that are near me,
not touching
your eyes on me,
slaking thirst
your stare
penetrating
your hands
in the space of thickness that grows
between flesh
up against the wall,
breaking it down
the heat that opens up
between us
is like lava
and its liquid
pulls me in
then
all is a rush
my cheeks in pink blush
in this private universe
just our breathing
pulse quickening
tiny tongue curls
wetness melting
I am a pillar of fire
your touch the slow burn
as I writhe upon
this stake of desire
imprinting my loneliness
with your need
stirring up my inner forces
with the power
of your
          giving

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;

I was born premature
I came out tiny, skinny,
A whopping 3 pounds and whatever ounces
My parents told me they didn't expect me to have full use of my lungs
But I did
Premature babies don't grow very quickly in early childhood
But I don't think I ever saw that
I mean I always knew I was small
But I never realized how small
Looking back at all the pictures of me,
I was always the smallest, skinniest, and shortest kid around
The boys would scoop me up and carry me down the halls,
But not in the cute princess way
It was more of tossing around a toy
And I'd sit there kicking the hell out of them screaming to put me down
But it never occurred to me there was a reason I was so small
It was fourth grade and I weighed a whopping 47 pounds, the boys still carried me off, and I still didn't take it
Turns out, puberty wouldn't hit me like it would hit all the other girls
In fact, there wasn't even a need for my mom to have "the talk" with me
In fact, at seventh grade I didn't know what the hell a period was
I didn't even where bras.
In fact the first day of high school I wasn't wearing a bra!
And I cried the first day when I realized that ******* everyone had bras on and I didn't even own one
And to my dismay I realized my mom had actually bought my little sister bras, but I didn't have any
And I was the point of interest at hushed family get togethers
Hearing hushed conversations like
Poor baby, it obviously won't happen any time soon
Im sure she will catch up
And I certainly didn't realize why my little sister was taller than me, bigger than me, and now curvier than me!
That was my job ******.
And my favorite was when my mom introduced us to friends and they would always ask my younger sister how high school was and I would have to interrupt and say "Hi I'm the oldest actually"
I never thought it to do with the timing of my birth
But now I'm discovering that it turns out preemies are at high risk for physical developmental problems, learning disabilities (especially with math), ADHD, depression, psychosis, and anxiety in the teenage years
And much more likely if the birth weight was under 4 pounds! (Me)
But just like when I was four and the boys carried me and took turns lifting me off my feet
I won't let it stop me
I won't let it get to me
Being a preemie is tough.
Especially when you were born as early as I was, and as small as I was
I'll always look younger, I'll never look my own age, and I'll never be very curvy,
But I guess that's just something to add to the list of things that are supposed to hold me back.
I won't let them

Let me show you how to love
Since no one has before
*...I'll love you.

I've mastered the art of sad smiles
It seems natural to me now
The slight curve of the lip corners
That never reaches the eyes
Those misty windows hold the truth
It's an oxymoronic action
Of conflicting thoughts
Between how I feel
And the depressing little attempt
To convince others I'm alright
Hoping to be asked what's wrong
But knowing I couldn't explain it
Even if I were

Was that little six year old girl walking home from her bus stop ready to tell her mother about her first day of school asking for it?

Was the teenage girl asking for it by walking to the restroom?

What about a mother? Was she asking for it by making a trip to the grocery store?