The Face Of Childhood From A Teenager.
Sinful words from my tongue come back
and let me curl myself back up into my childhood.
Before Jessica died,
before the disease stripped her bones of their laughter.
Before I lost my love
within the spark of him.
Before life was filled with such doubt.
Oh, seething girlish innocence
come back down to me.
I want to kiss my purity
and fill myself within the happy mold of myself.
I could be wild
and remain untainted,
I am a poet,
a weaver of words
but what I wouldn't give for childhood to wrap its warm arms around me again,
comfort me with its smooth voice.
To live in a land where tears are foreign
where blood thirsty leaders are banned
and led away in chains of remorse.
My curly hair could be unkempt again
and I could play.
lord, let me make believe again.