my body grows old before my mind wishes it so (alone, maturity hurts)

my bedroom mirror’s cracked and i

know it’s from the movers but sometimes

i think it was secretly from it

looking at my face.

hair falls out unnaturally and i cry every night, can someone please tell me, it’s not alright? balding would be easy if i were a man since only then is it acceptable-but now, i get the pleasure of being a teenage girl experiencing high school with the chance of being the homecoming ugly queen. hair isn’t everything, but i’d be lying if i were to say it wasn’t something. that’s why when i shower, i massage my head afterward and whisper prayers in the bathroom as if it were a cure.

mama made me, the only way

she knows how; is it considered irony

that by the second, she

had the process all figure out?

mama did things i’m not allowed to talk about, that’s what my adoptive parents told me. and i know i should forgive and forget her, because she was young and naive, simply the age 19; but it’s her fault i’m here and ending up like this. they say crazy isn’t a gene, but science can’t fool me, the likelihood of me becoming like her increases yearly.

fell off my bike too many times, grace

and balance just weren’t for me,

so they left little presents on my knees:

scars, bruises, and markings.

if there’s one thing i want, it’s the promise of youth in eternity; living forever’s only a dream if you can do it properly. so when death kisses my cheeks in farewell, claiming she’ll never visit me, only then will i pack my bags and collect lost boys like pennies. but we all know that desires just fuel the flames of inevitability, burning to ash and flying away; dreams never come true (and those who tell you otherwise simply wish to take them away from you).

you’ll never know my name

because every lover i know that does

takes it and uses it into their greedy

little game; no, my name is

mine alone to keep.

expectations are directions to disasters, so please, keep them away from me. i stopped writing them myself when i realized i wanted to be young and free. and i’ve started to ignore my body’s natural craving for mortality and outlining my heart’s drawing of infinity; childhood memories i’ve begun to cry (now i understood why my mother use to) and the itching feeling of wrinkles appear on my body.