wph

On my sixteenth birthday.

I curled into a ball in the frayed, silk afterglow of childhood, 

When you are old

Your skin will become like paper,

And your bones will be like the wooden ribs

Of a lantern

So that the world will see the light in your chest.

But I don't need to wait

I hung in the sky, frowning down at the city below me 

Scowling because Peter Pan went away. 

I had stretched, and my body had run away 

In the years since then. 

It is one A.M.

I am depressed, on insta.

Oh, to lead their lives

Instead

I wish I was bigger.

I wish I had a little bit more muscle.

I wish there was more between my skin and my bones,

That my ribs wouldn’t show when I take off my shirt,

That I wasn’t made of tissue paper.