Geri

It is still summer. Not fall. 

Call me stubborn, but I refuse to forget. I choose to remember. 

I remember riding the train, speeding past hills that glowed yellow from the sun. 

Maybe being a  

teenager is just a con 

stant state of panic. 

Minute tremors burrow under my skin as  

yesterday’s mistakes become today's problems.

Eyelids itchy and irritable, I blink over and over