I never thought I'd be
a pack a day
kind of girl.

I've seen the school assemblies,
heard my mother's shrill voice,
Don't you know what those things will do to you?
I've heard about the tar and the ash
and the cancer and the ventilators.

But there's something
about smoke curling around itself,
warm and inviting in the sharp,
snow scented air,
tiptoeing around my head
like a house cat.

There's something dangerous in
the scent of smoke on my skin,
in the taste of ash on my tongue.
Something that seems to say
I am not the kind of girl to **** around with.

It's a secret, a sly smile,
something that is all mine.
It's a destructive tendency,
it's a bad decision.
But it's mine, mine, mine
to make.