Peter Pan Syndrome

Im sitting criss cross applesauce on stained carpet waiting for the words to write themselves
because I'm not sure what I want to say
but I want to say something

High school.
was only 4 years of my 17 which means that
at 13 I was creasing the corners of books
and increasing the footnotes and even though i kept losing my page
i was near the beginning anyways

it wasn't until a boy, the first boy
read my footnotes and showed me his
that my heart helped me dance
because the choreography was our promises
they never made it to the stage
that was 14
flip the page

but it was nothing like 16
where the night never perished
and i didn't know any of the words
but i sang along anyways
flip the page

back to 15 because we skipped a section
where music was the kernals in the microwave
when my library card was my fake ID
and we were cemented to eachother
while exploring the mysteries of fitting in
and never forcing a laugh
flip the page
skip the next chapter

we're in college and we're lost
but we've found ourselves
and for once we feel small
but the bigger plans we made
are unfolding and we're content

Go back
back to this moment right now
i'm 17 years old and in 61 hours we'll be standing in a line waiting for our names to be called
BINGO
four rows four years completed
there will be tears and smiles and diplomas
and we'll be thinking about the future's fresh taste on our tongues
and the bitterness of rotten relationships will be replaced with sweet release
and we'll reflect on tetherball and four square and footie pajamas
along with field trips to bowling alleys and football games under the bleachers
and it will all be one extravagent moving picture
because the past will become a flipbook of memories we chose to remember
and it won't matter if you appeared in the yearbook 8 times
or ate in the cafeteria every day
it will only matter who you are in this very moment
and all I have left to say is godspeed

cheddar

"Say cheese!"
here we go with the artificial smiling again
exercising our face muscles for another cosmetic compliment
they claimed it as candid, so everybody did
but the smile never reached your eyes

why do we even smile in pictures?
if they're supposed to capture a memory
why do we pose?
making babies laugh before the flash seconds before they cry
producing the perfect moment and printing it
framing it
and hanging it
the walls pleaded me not to

most of us choose to read fiction over nonfiction
and actors get paid for being something they're not
we beliddle others because we remain anonymous
yet here we are starting wars and rumors of wars
whether it be in our streets or on our television screens
it is the same

and all this time the light leaking from the windows never reached the plant
so it died
because the blinds filtered out what it needed to hear
and photos in the magazines didn't have the photosynthesis it needed

I'm climbing on rooftops because I can't see the stars
with all the pollution and commotion and alterations to this nation
that was once so great

The silence burns holes through me
my heart has so much to say
but my ribs pledged to my brain and instead it stays hostage inside of me
and I want to let freedom ring
but the pencil keeps breaking in my hand
like my fingers are stronger than the words on the page
and the picture never developed

can't we all just be real for a second?
real doesn't have to be sad, but real has to be honest
can we cry without worrying about where the water falls
can I tell my father I love him or is it too late?
can we stop the world from poisoning the next generation?
we can do anything
but we won't
because humanity went extinct before I was born
because sacrifice never was a fool's paradise
and we all just keep smiling for the camera.

weathered bones

206 of them by the time I turn 18

I hit the keys

27 in each hand

operating without hesitation

a beautiful, complex structure

Exo, endo, hydrostatic

evolution and adaptation

they're the reason why the birds fly 

and the humans crawl

they melted every time our hands brushed

but the moment the music seeped into our ears

they fused back together, but denser this time

the hushed rhythm leaked into our skin and submerged all 206 

and we danced freely; like we were underwater

our souls were not eclipsed by the crowding tissue

and the marrow inside resonated the sounds and sang along

just loud enough to break the strings

and the puppet masters gasped

but strings aren't the only thing that can break

the accident caused me to question the delicacy of these parts

this fragile framework that can be so stalwart

can shatter like stain glass windows on a church

the signatures on the caste declare that they're healing

but the paralytic never knew recovery

196 move in unison and I'm walking away

but I can feel it in every part of me

"they're weighing me down," I say

the entirety only twenty pounds on average

and while the rest may wither and waste away

these 20 pounds stay behind

there are skeletons in my closet