i am sixteen years old
lightheaded, underslept, sleepy.
chinaspice blocks in the corners of yellowed stairwells,
easter eggs hidden under my feet
and grass squeaking beneath my curled toes.
My chest
feels like an alarm clock silenced one too many times,
a grenade left buried underground for too long,
a dog chained up to a running motor.
My heart is being squeezed by the hands of god,
who can't decide what to do with me quite yet.
so he lets me sit in the oven a while longer,
and while it's nice to be warm around the edges,
I'm not partial to getting
red-hot.