eleven

you don’t have a problem

you just have a distraction

i don’t really need it

it’s just an attachment

like i felt as a child

to the sun kissed wood

and the chalk covered concrete

back then i never understood

i miss the days where snow was ice on my face

and i spit out the drink when i had my first taste

rolled in the sand, waded in the water

always got out of bed as the seasons grew hotter

and my books were the things

that i snuck into my sheets

hidden under covers

now they’re just abusive lovers

stay there, little bird

don’t leave the nest

i want to hold you and lie and say

the future will be blessed

please don’t open your eyes

i beg of you

i can’t bare them seeing

everything i do

but, see, even that is a lie

you felt too much too early

when you watched your mother cry

mistook it for laughter

with her face in a towel

where did my naïveté go?

but you were eleven years old!

you shouldn’t have had that happen to you

not believed the possession over you

crying on the tiles

how long were you on your knees?

how much repenting did it take

for you to be free

staring at the sky, begging for mercy

well, not much has changed

at the age of twenty

you still get on your knees

still beg somebody please

you still repent at the bathroom sink

nose on the counter

eyes are still bloodshot

still don’t sleep

and your veins are still blue