Scrap metal mind

Junkyard limbs and Vaseline

Vase of wilting flowers

Oh, that used to be me

Cheek biting Tuesdays

Clung to you like a flea

Anxiously attached

Yes, that used to be me

How can you tell?

There’s no sign that says “You’ve grown”

I feel it in my fingertips

Way down to my toes

The future’s ripe and waiting

Like an ever-juicy mango 

I sink my teeth to tart

And forget my sour sorrows 

Beach in early August

Letting ocean brush my feet

Reminds of swishing Listerine

Healing is aquamarine 

Blackness drifts downstream

How could I ever be so mean?

One day I simply realized, 

What a bore to be broken at sixteen