
If God is real, he is made of water
If God is real, he is made of water
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.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.