thirteen

I know it’s unfair for me to reel them in

Pin them as a scapegoat of my catastrophe

The stitches in my legs that scorch forest fires in my sleep

Result from a liar’s bruise, my love,

It was never you.

God knows,

I would love everyone if I could

Gift a piece of my DNA to every acquaintance

I’m already halfway there, so openly reserved,

But everyone can see the anomaly inside my head

It was never you.

Made a fool of myself on every corner

Swept the cities in my grace then dissipated

My name is still written in the pivotal stop sign posts

Still persisting on The Hill with all of my younger ghosts

Always trying to renew.

In the fog, I’m thirteen again. No need for healing.

It was never you.

- M. Rose