some poetry

 

eighteen

ages are funny things. to think that

you’ve existed for longer than someone

and shorter than someone else—

isn’t that strange?

and some of them have meanings.

you, for instance. you’re eighteen. what does that mean?

nothing. everything.

a child in someone’s mind and a grown-up in someone else’s.

you “turn eighteen” (what does that even mean? it’s like it’s the turn of a century)

and you become the same but different.

you’re a man now, child,

in the eyes of the world. you’re not a “minor” anymore. you’re a “major”.

a full-fledged human. congratulations, you actually exist now.

but what you did before, isn’t that important too?

ages are funny things. some people say they matter, but do they?

you don’t seem so different to me.

headache

thud.

thud.

thud.

there’s a small creature inside my head

it’s knocking at my skull with its teeth.

thud.

go away, small creature, you’re hurting me

i can’t possibly do anything

with you inside my head.

thud.

thud.

shut up, small creature, nobody cares about you.

thud.

“leave me my name.” - john proctor, the crucible

fool.

you want my name?

i have given you my soul.

sure, you can have my name,

once you’ve pried it from my cold, dead hands.

i have given you my soul. leave me my name.