i rise with the temperature
ripples off the sidewalk
like all the pools i've jumped in every summer of my life.

i am 8, and the world is the brightest yellow
video games, family, bike rides
from daybreak to sundown
the smell of the trampoline stuck to my hair
sunburnt skin and grass stains
the thrum of cicadas and mourning doves
in one huge chorus, like the heartbeat of the earth
cigarette smoke clings to everything, but no one cares
saturday nights are when everyone plays cards
and the kids are all together
endless games in the basement, and down the hall

everything sighs.
taps the hurt in its chest.

i am 10
and the summer just means i'm home again
everything is a blue, like the sky above the ugly neighborhood
my knees with little lines on them
from being pressed against the vent on the floor
looking out the window
feeling the dusty a/c
wondering how much more a person could feel.
reading books in my room
listening to the birds, and toddler fighting outside
swimming at the apartments, learning to dive
the Cardinals are winning, with the bases loaded
and i've been reading this book so long
the carpet left marks on my arms

everything waits.
draws a blank.

i am 13.
the summer just means it's too hot to wear jeans
things have been gray for a long time now
the laughter from the other kids
still not quite as loud as the ones in the mirror, or behind my eyes
waking up is like treading quicksand
new school, new things to hate
new things to do wrong, places to be invisible
my island surrounded by an ocean made of black glass
i don't remember what home feels like

everything blinks.
takes a second to steady itself.

i am 14
i couldn't feel the heat if it set me on fire
there isn't color
no black or white, or shades of gray
i've seen the color people see when they go blind
all the organs have left my chest
wind whistles through my cavities, plays on my ribs
just as hollow as my eyes look
no words came out when none were passed to me
breaking the stolen scissors on the bathroom floor
i promised myself i would learn to feel something
but they were blunt
nothing magic poured out of my skin
im not a red balloon, im a tree stump

everything stops.
retraces its steps.

i am 15.
things are just as they were
i am back looking at the sky over apartments
pink hair brighter than the sunlight
but a monster is gnawing deep at my rib cage
my mind says the grass is green
but the world has turned mud brown
the kind that gets stirred up when it thunderstorms
kind of like i do every other evening
over a boy who took my virginity, told me to **** myself
it was my fault when he put fire in his skin
my fault no one loved him
i didn't do enough
i hoped the summer would set me on fire again

everything looks down
forces the recollections out

i am 16.
the summer means weeks away from home
spent drunk with friends promised to the army
the stories and the veil over my eyes, the best team
everything is a sick neon green
i wanted so badly to know what love felt like
to make the green turn into pink
for the clouds to come down and let me touch them
but then i remember its just the acid i did
everything will be gray again soon

everything shuts its eyes
hesitates

i am 17.
the summer is a bluish black
it means no school, no people, the color of asphalt
a best friend i had since i tamed my car
the concept of freedom plays with my hair with the windows down
but i know i'm not going anywhere
suddenly things are eggshell white
the color of the walls in the apartment
i'm always trapped in one of those
there for *** and verbal abuse
hoping i make a better punching bag than a person
i know things are a little better when i play guitar on the roof
and play games and smell like sunburn,
just like when i was a kid

everything cries
wonders why everything happens the way it does

i am 18.
the summer isn't here yet
i dream in flashes
vast blue and green, the day i first got to know you
im not ready to be inside four white walls again
the pink ones exude a comfort i can't express
i feel a silent loneliness caress my ribcage again
and suddenly i am 10
wide eyed and quiet
i push my glasses back onto my face
and hope i get a phone call soon
calculating how to make 3 weeks fit into 3 hours
then giving up on all of it
wanting from a wishing well far deeper than my own
to be able to fly with you to the desert
where things will be yellow again
but i know far more than i did
money and the concept of medication bare their teeth my direction

everything sits.
none of it is worth thinking about anymore.

numbness bites my fingertips now
somewhere in the pit of my stomach
i wrote a note about the memories
and not really wanting to repeat
the summer