@ 14

At fourteen, I was a shining star
I was someone new and improved and raw
A master of eloquent machinations and
Visceral realness. I was a femme de renaissance.

At fourteen, da Vinci would be jealous of me.
I swirl lies on my tongue like potions.
Not a substance my wit can’t breach.
They say that all geniuses are little crazy.

In a perfect world, I would have stayed whole.
Disintegration doesn’t look so pretty on me.
All my thoughts get caught in nets and I’m not sure
If I will ever find who I once was again.

At twenty-two, I am a long way from home.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s