you are not in your room
i throw up the things i want to say
all over your bed
they are messy and violent
will you sleep tonight?

i have not slept since that time
under the monkeybars at the old playground
your mouth held the taste of old love
when i wanted something that was entirely mine
i was selfish and a child
i did not understand
how she ate chunks of your heart
and left only poison
my stomach cannot digest leftovers
not yet.

The monsters under our beds turn to monsters in our heads

The ghosts in the attic become the ghosts of past loves

Pain was a broken leg that soon became a fight to the death with your mind

Shots were something we got so we didnt get sick but they turned to needles littering the ground

Medicine was tylonal we took when we had a cough now its pills we pop to forget life

we went from cutting paper into works of art to ripping our own skin apart into a crimson mess

yelling was what you did at the playground now it's what happens when when you can't stand living

Bruises would come from falling off the monkeybars now they come from those you think love you

shots were from soda caps and giggles that turned to sneaking out and getting wasted to forget

What happend to those kids whoes eyes were full of hope

What happened to those kids who wanted to grow up

The way you walk reminds me
of how I lost my front teeth,
on that playground, under those monkeybars,
where I “had my first kiss"
but didn’t
and said I did, because
I was six and I was afraid of
being alone

The sandbox is filled
With toddlers just starting to yap.
They play, they eat, they cry
Then it’s time to take a nap…

The monkeybars are seen
With older children showing off.
They swing, they drop, they rise
They continue with their stuff.

The slide is now in focus
With pre-teen children climbing up.
They run, they jump, they laugh
They begin to develop.

The swing can now be seen
With adolescents hanging out.
They fly, they fall, they try.
They learn what love is about.

The grass is freshly cut
With young adults reading for class.
They see, they dream, they do
The hours quickly pass.

The path is occupied
With adults out for a jog.
They sweat, they win, they lose
The years become a fog.

The bench is where it ends
With an old woman in a wrap.
She knows, she speaks, she smiles
Then it’s time to take a nap…