I want to stab a ball point pen into the soft part of my wrist
Pull it upwards through my arm until it hits the shoulder
I feel the urge
The need to let something out
I want to feel open

When you are on the shore
The water seems to go on forever

Knowledge is the great plunderer of youth
Intuition was a better friend
She knew before she was told
Have you never felt fire of life in your belly
Glass stars in your fingertips

Immaturity lacks discretion
Here we are silent, void of words
This truly is enough
If you let it be

These men are ghosts
Repossessing my body

You fit religion into my mouth like a metal fillings
Before my tongue even learned the curvature of my own name
My thoughts hold no inkling apart from that which you bound to me
Such as I am empty
Fill me up, with no doubt for my cracks and chips
I am a humble vessel

If my body is a temple
As those who worship
The god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob profess
Then there is blood on the walls
If it is a temple
Who is it devoted to
Who will be the sacrificial lamb

I cannot be both temple and offering

You grow inside out
Out growing your skin
Like a snake sheds its corn husk past life

I outgrew myself
My passions, honesty and hope
Like a bomb in a building counts down to ten fastest
And is in an instant expired

When we are older
We will age like weeds in flower boxes on the third story
We will taste the rain before the surface of the earth
And we will dry out from the touch of the sun
Remembering how gently we craved for shade