I used to end all my prose in exclamations.

When I was a kid,
I would clench my fists
And tighten my jaw so hard,
the veins in my neck would buldge And sore by morning.
If I could close my eyes tight enough,
I could pretend I didn't hear the screams from down the hallway.

I don't want to end my prose in exclamations.
I want sprinkles of rain on my nose,
Not hail.
I want to lay in a field of grass and never once check my watch
And while were making requests,
I want to breathe in pine and lilacs,
I want to recall but not remember the bruises on my back.