My mother used to yell at me.
When I would call my birthday,
'one-day-closer-to-death day'
because ladies don't do that.
and she always thought an 8 year old
shouldn't talk about death.
As if I didn't fully comprehend what the
words coming out of my mouth 
were carrying. 
I did. 
I pondered them in her closet every night and soon figured out
They were obviously forests tied with
boulders.
I carried more words of mass heaviness like that than she
carried bone marrow.
   When someone first told me
they loved me, I panicked
and scattered into almost a thousand black beetles and crawled up his spine
so he couldn't see my face 
and the death spilling from my blood
red lips.
Because ladies don't do that.
FALLING IN LOVE IS THE DUMBEST
THING YOU COULD DO.
I told myself that for each star 
I counted in your eyes,
And every cut on your chest.
That I more than likely
caused by throwing my words
around not realizing they turned
into blades at the very last moment
but maybe if I did, I'd be a lady.
And I wouldn't think 
birthdays equal death.
Since ladies don't do that.
T.L