The wind whipped my hair.

The car flew down a hill;

I closed my eyes.

The driver flipped the radio on:

It was a SONG–

A song my mom wouldn’t approve of.

I wriggled in my seat,

The teenagers giggled.

“What, you don’t like it?”

I shook my head.

Of course I liked it.

It spoke to my heart.

It spiked through my blood

Like a beautiful poison

Made just for me.

The notes and rhythm moved my limbs

In a way nothing else ever had.

I was one with the music.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I like it.”

And I lost a bit of myself

That day.

Years later

A car pulls into the driveway.

I climb in

And that SONG

Is playing again.

I’ve changed so much.

I no longer feel guilty

Tapping my foot to the beat,

Convulsing in my seat,

Mouthing the words.

They speak to me

Like no other words can.

The music is a language,

My language,

A language I always knew

I would know someday.

And I can’t help but think

How different I am now

And wonder

If it’s good

Or if it’s bad.




Is says on the packaging

That my mascara is


But it isn’t.

As I cry

My tears scrape up the

Black ash

And smear it beneath my eyes,

Publicly displaying

My dismal position.




Yeah right.


A lot of things aren’t waterproof.

Some things dissolve in water,

Gone in a second.

But we need water to survive.


I’m waterproof.

But what I’m not is




I climb to great heights

And then


My packaging didn’t say life proof.

But I wish it had.

‘Cuz it hurts

So bad.