Twenty somethings
         were neve enough

to stockpile the realisation,



                       that I needed


          more words to tell you that....

i’m twenty and my favorite color is lavender and
i'm espresso mixed with honey, talking very fast,
absorbing it so slowly
piling books in the corner and boys by my feet
without meaning to
sunburnt and wads of tissues in backpacks and utterly confused at the concept of god/ raised by a catholic and an atheist,
i’ll always say,
with a laugh, dainty head tilt on a date another hand on a thigh and another prayer that i won’t feel that crushing guilt in the morning like
i usually do
because i have yet to learn otherwise and i’m sure there’s something somewhere inside me? outside maybe inside probably can’t sit still so
i chopped my hair again and i think i’m cured!
until i get stuck in traffic on i-87 and i call my dad to tell him i got my nose pierced and he says,
what? and it closes up anyway on that trip to salem where i put my headphones in and walked very quickly away from you
and the guilt the things i won't feel pile up
i’m a block of lead you can’t get me off of the floor wasn’t i healed?
didn’t i do this? this isn’t a curved line this is a pit and i’m in it and
please leave me here please don’t leave me i’m getting better i swear
but i don’t know when but at least there’s a will to live now and
i’m googling colorado again do you think i’ll be more of a light there?
could you turn the light on?

turned twenty one,
which means that things illegal in Texas now
are really bad ones, no innocence defense available,
all the adult sinful pleasures mine all mine

and the men look at me more carefully

oh they still card me to be sure,
but what
they want really is just
my name and address

when not wearing my cutoffs,
surprisingly lean toward flouncy dresses
pretty angelic ***** interesting,
men so dumb,
they rather imagine what’s inside using a road map
they imagine, than convent convenient signs  
of a nice tight short skirt that reveals
all and suggests nothing

you may recall that shy cowboy,^
feet shuffling, getting himself in trouble,
blushing loudly, when his pretense smooth goes awry,
it’s over a year and he’ll be picking me up,
with a peck and a hey darlin’
and calling me by my pet name,
Velvet Hammer Ale,
ale, the copper color of my hair,
velvet, my love for him,
a hammer for fools and my tough as nails, stout insides

yup turned twenty one