i.
***** blond hair and braces,
beanie and a sweatshirt,
you were the secondary third wheel
along with myself.
you put on all four hats and
nearly choked on your soda
at someone’s ***** joke.

ii.
hair parted sideways,
black-ringed blue eyes,
we vaguely remembered each other
and talked a bit before going back
to the ones who had originally brought us.
the blue was pretty and you had a bubbly laugh
and were dressed nicer than before.
we finally memorized each other’s names
and when it was time to go,
we hugged and I told you to
drop by again soon.

iii.
braces off and longer hair,
your board had a new paintjob.
we enthusiastically greeted each other
with a hug and an exchange of names
and we ended up sitting at the computer
for most of the afternoon and evening.
we talked without restraint and
had definitely become easy friends.

iv.
hair shaved off on the sides,
the rest slicked back like a new-age greaser,
you smelled slightly of stale cigarettes
when I tucked my face against your neck
for our routine hug.
I squeezed you tight and brushed my thumbs
across the leather of your jacket.
you were angry and stressed but didn’t really show it
and I wasn’t sure what to do with my still-new
feelings for you.
I held your hands outside that night
and asked you to quit again,
because people come and go and life’s too short
to make it even shorter
by ******* on a stick of chemicals and tobacco.
you said you’d quit soon and thanked me for being there.

v.
you stayed over
and we spent most of our time
swapping songs and playing video games
and snacking on poptarts and arizona.
I woke up the next morning to find that
you hadn’t slept
and wondered what you must have been thinking about
that could keep you up all those hours.

vi.
we saw a bad movie together tonight.
our heads bumped multiple times
and we both had to pull up our legs
since our heels barely touch the floor comfortably.
your forehead would wrinkle when you were looking up
and it gave you an air of maturity
that I didn’t know you could pull off.
I wanted to kiss you
but didn’t know what you thought of me
so I didn’t.

I guess maybe it's because I've left more scars
than I've taken
and skidded across the highways of too many
broken hearts
that I've never thought of myself as scarred
but I have to be- I must be,
car crashes leave more than just marks
and I've danced through this world not-too-lightly-
everything I've done has affected me some way, some how,
but they don't feel like scars- even though they're
mentally there, on my heart, forever;
the marks she left there when she saw that green light
and didn't go,
or when my light was red and I dashed through- destroying everything in my path.
I've been on fire millions of times.
Each of them tested and refined,
some of them destroyed.
my engine's been upgraded, revamped,
my paintjob's a horrid mess;
my insurance won't cover me much longer.
There's been so many flames-
my oil seems to act of it's own accord-
and maybe, just maybe, the scars that have been on my heart
are more often *burns.