In school they teach you
how to multiply 9x8
make you read Macbeth
and have you memorize the first 10 amendments to the constitution.
But they don’t teach you how to
stop loving someone who has
stopped loving you
or how to deal with losing
a friend to an unsaid goodbye
and a relative to a cancer that ate
away their brain.
At home I learned
from my father that
alcohol can make as many problems
as it solves
but damn does it feel good
to let my throat burn instead of my heart
and to tune out the problems in my head
that I just couldn’t solve.
Because life isn’t 9x8
and it isn’t the way authors describe
their characters in a story.
It’s those nights you lay awake
wishing things could be different
and it’s the next day when you realize they can’t
and then it’s how you pick yourself up
after being down for so long.
I: I am seventeen but still can’t hang my legs off my bed in fear that something will grab me and pull me down.
II: I am seventeen and I am a wild mess that no one has the time to clean.
III: I am seventeen which means I am old enough to drive a car but still to young to understand what he meant when he said he needed space.
IV: I am seventeen and still so naive that I let the same boy run me over then pick me up whenever he was bored.
V: And yes I know I am seventeen and I have yet to really live but how do I go on without my heart?
Pin me down and gently drag your lips and fingertips all over my skin. Put your mouth on my neck and use your teeth to send chills down my spine.
Climb on top of me. Look deep into my eyes. Press that cunning smile against my wanting lips. Bite my lip. Make my whimper. Pull my hair. Help me let out some sweet little moans for you.
Whisper in my ear everything you could do to me, everything you want to do to me…then don’t. Make me want it. Make my body beg for it.