I ask her to describe her mood
By color
& she said*  *"blue"
& I asked her why she's sad
She responded

*"I'm not,
I just love the way the ocean makes me feel
I love the water
So therefore I'm blue"

Cigarettes and
red nail polish,
and one night stands,
that's what little girls are made of.

Bright blue pills and
soft pink lips,
and whiskey soaked nights
laced in regret,
that's what little girls are made of.

The sharp boys who whisper
behind street lamps in parks
know nothing of
what little girls are made of.

Broken hearts,
crushed dreams,
bitter souls, and
black coffee,
that's what little girls are made of.

Tear tracks and
bloodstains,
bruised knuckles and
fire.

That's what little girls are made of.

I want to see my muscles and bones
I want to see the tissues that make up
this fractured body
I want to write my favorite
poems on the insides of my eyelids
so I see beauty when I blink
I want to unzip my skin and shake off the dust
gathered from years of being
unused and untouched
I want to inspect myself on the inside
to see my body work together when my brain sleeps
coauthoring my breath
instructing me to keep living.
I want to see the make up of me
and try to retrace my muscle memory into something new
string my tendons into bows
wrap my veins into vines around my mothers' garden
so she sees the tattered reasons why I can't help her bloom.
I want to see if there's more to me
or less of me
most importantly I want to see if you're still carved into my stomach
knots leaving scars.
I'm curious
if my insides are more beautiful than my outside

trying to reach for death in the dark, but even the reaper has abandoned me.

as i felt anger towards myself for not knowing why i'm where i am,
the depression kicks in and the sadness follows,
i was lost in a world full of directions.
(J.D) (11:54)