Ramblings from my Rooftop

i knew who i was at 13
when my solitude poured ink onto paper
magic words that kept manic monsters at bay.
olive skinned and bright smiles
wanting but never yearning.
he said i had a spark that drew
the bees in droves
with a barely there smirk
that kept them trying.

i knew i had a wild soul
but wrapped inside my shy child exterior?
i never expected them to see.

my first kiss was to a boy named Dean,
bronze skinned and amber eyes,
soft lips and too wet tongue.
i drew cinematic comparisons,
shedded my literature to become skin
trying to be like everyone else.
tired of being on a.m to their f.m.
what i lost rushing to grow up
was my quiet contemplations.

i used to sneak out in the mornings,
the newly formed dew my favourite companion;
the not quite awake 4a.m. world dimly lit.

i forgot my affinity to quiet,
blaring rock drowning out thoughts.
karmic punishment because you have to want
to be hungry, to achieve anything
and i wanted normalcy
so i starved, weighing the barbs,
counting message bubbles
watching them slip
away, away, bright star dazed,
the normalcy i craved destroying
panache that was in-built.

it took me 24 years to remember
wild souls don’t need a wild child exterior
but the whiskey thirst was ingrained.

still, i tried
cataloguing my thoughts in company.
the less i said, the more i was heard.
the more i saw, the less i wanted.
i stood obstinately at 13 for way too long,
development arrested, and tried to play
catch up way too fast –
ended up devouring my truths.
sinfire shots and absolut dicks,
empty lines and emptier sheets.

i am wild child, tired out
manic magic tamped.
woman-girl, girl-wonder, wonder-woman.

wondering why we have to be anything
when we can be everything
the manic words entrap the magic truths.
devouring caution, two sheets to the wind.
i knew who i was at 13, when i dove
head first into the willing ocean
and crested for my first breath.
olive skinned and gleaming smile,
wild child interior decorated
by a spark that wanted life.


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