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Dec 2014
This clock has aged a bit and changed a bit.  But the pieces still tick, tock.  With a few tweaks and small pinch, we are able to reminisce.
The clock chimes and I am young again.  My earliest memories play like film.  The lullabies, the kisses, the smiles.  My mother holding me, I can almost feel it.  I remember how the world was so large.  Public playgrounds were jungles and I, so brave, would venture into the darkest corners.  My father keeps my palm in his hand, I can see it.  He didn't want to lose me. He didn't want to lose me. And yet...
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and I am taller, wiser.  The girls at school laugh and taunt me.  I didn't mind.  They just didn't understand and that was fine.  My father gave me presents on Christmas, clothes to try to change me.  But, his eyes crinkled when he smiled.  So, I tried, I tried but the shirts were constricting and I felt like I couldn't breathe.  My mother walks downstairs after he is gone and slowly cuts the shirt away.  She kisses my cheek and I never changed.  
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and my mother is slipping away.  She's running out of ways to lie but she still tries.  I was sixteen to her but to me I was forty-nine.  I shine light on her face and see it is dark and empty.  She tries on a smile but it no longer fits.  I watch her stare blankly at Rapunzel on the screen, she's reciting every line.  My father calls and I am not supposed to tell, not supposed to speak.  I am terrified.  She knows, but did he?  My father and I argue and can no longer fit our smiles.  I slam the door and he drives away.
Tick, tock.
The clock chimes and he tells me I'm poison.  He blames me for everything that goes wrong.  Soulless eyes, that child has soulless eyes.  He calls his home Texas while I try to rebuild mine.
Tick, tock.  
The clock chimes and she is gone.  I sit in a empty home.  I was sixteen, still only sixteen.  She knew, but did he?
The clock chimes and I am alone.
The clock chimes and I need to be an adult tonight.   I must abide.
This clock has aged a bit and changed a bit.  But the pieces still tick, tock. I accept my past, I call it mine.  I still feel so young inside.  Every memory makes me stronger and a little more alive.
Nikki Whittaker
Written by
Nikki Whittaker
656
   Andrew Saromines
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