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 Oct 2013 vy
Kwaician
If
You
Only
Had
One
Chance...
 Oct 2013 vy
E
when I was five, my parents gave me a book about a rainbow fish instead of the princess one I wanted. waterworks began.

when I was six, I checked out a book from the school library about the tooth fairy. I read it over and over again because I was too nervous to return it.

when I was seven, I started taking dance lessons. my teacher had bright blonde hair that she always kept in a ponytail. I wanted to be exactly like her.

when I was eight, I learned how to write in cursive. I made a point of showing my teacher how the lowercase 's' looked like a Hershey's Kiss.

when I was nine, I wrote an essay for school about a cat. my teacher told me I didn't have to revise like the other kids because I had already written it so well. I was ecstatic.

when I was ten, my best friend moved away and I cut my hair short. it was the first time I had to learn how to start over.

when I was eleven, I argued myself to tears on the playground, thus discovering passion.

when I was twelve, I almost tripped down the stairs after school every day because I refused to put my book down.

when I was thirteen, I made my way into a group of friends that had hearts of gold and eyes of steel. we felt invincible.

when I was fourteen, I watched as by best friend silently collapsed into a heap of tiny, broken pieces. I learned that the nicest people can be incredibly hard headed.

now I'm fifteen. I don't know everything, but I do understand that life never goes as planned. I understand that we are wonderfully accustomed to adapting to unprecedented circumstances. I understand that picking yourself up off the bathroom floor time and time again takes strength and resilience. I understand that you're good at being you, and that is always a compliment.
 Sep 2013 vy
Ashley Wade Parker
at the risk of being weird
I want to ask you to **** me
Even though it is only 5am.
6am comes…and I do not
And you are still asleep
And I would like to be
If my ****** wasn’t aching like an empty stomach
throbbing like a sore tooth.
Spooning is sweet but I want go get out of the cutlery drawer.
It is 7:28 and you have rolled away from me
And I can’t help but wonder if having
Me in your bed is no more than a child holding a bear in his sleep.
But stuffed bears can’t feel insecurity.
The women of your past have been beautiful and immaculate
                          (I saw the **** picture one sent you before we went to sleep--
                            instagram filters can't even make me look that good)
like
stone Venuses, lovely despite the fact that they were made from **** foam.
And I am neither immaculate or made of stone
as you well know
since you have put your hand on my stomach so many times.
And I do not want to be needy but I can’t help but think that
The reason you are away from me
asleep at 7:35
Is that the ghosts of these models that haunt you look nothing like me.
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