day 327

Everyone tells me that I am emotionally explosive. I don't talk to anyone. No one tells me this. Just the flicker of a whisper in my dangle of an ear lobe. Not stretched with half truths and whole lies. We lay and watch the meteor shower. On your sixteenth birthday. The one I missed. As well as fifteen. And fourteen. And thirteen. And twelve. Stop myself from celebrating age and growth. Hard to cheer yourself on when your mouth is filled of poison and your angel has been tainted. On my birthday last year, I was in bed alone with no one to love me. He loved me back but it wasn't summer anymore. No more heat. Just a lot of autumn, changes, death. A lot of missing my mother's laughter, feeling weak in the knees and pinching the insides of my stomach with butterfly feet. Dainty and free.