slow like honey

sixteen

At sixteen, I learned to be silent,
not to let the words slip out of me like violent vines,
not to sound like my mother.

At sixteen I realized that scripting my own life is worthless
the world is chaos and havoc
the world cannot be planned
it flows like a stream of thoughts,
where I am just interrupting.

At sixteen I realized that I might be changing
slow like honey or grief
but I'm changing
silently, obediently, walking the halls of my own metamorphosis.

At sixteen I realized that I am a child
always will be a child
a crying womb

Hold me and tell me it's alright

I still follow you
with my eyes
          anywhere we go.

I search for you between crowds
           chasing

Am I the dog?  Am I the thorn?

Hold me and tell me I am not.

You still hold on to me like a token,
am I still your little girl?

Hold me and tell me I am.

Let me leave and be me, are you the dog or the god?
             am i still your last creation?
are you the thorn in my leg?

Mother, at sixteen I learned that there is more of you in me than blood,
dive in and see.
Aren't you the dog?

I cannot chase to you,
I'm sorry I'm changing.
             tell me, am I still your crying womb?
Please, please,please tell me I am.

I'm scared of change, mom.

Please hold me so tight to your beating heart
with your gentle hands, the hands that hurt me once
and stroke my hair again
so lovingly.

Mom, at sixteen I learned that I'm forever alone
             but I'm sweet and gentle and I try try try
Please tell me what did you learn at sixteen
so I can learn, too
to be silent
and not to hurt myself with those violent vines.
                                                     Please teach me life, aren't you the god?