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1.

We all have veins in our hands,

But since we're all different on the outside that leads me to believe

We've all got a little something different coursing through our veins.

I asked you if you lie to me just to keep the peace.

You know that unripe blackberries remind me of the body of a wasp.

But that never let you stop me from getting stung,

And ravaged by the thorns of those who lie.

 

2.

I lay my clothes out on your floor for you.

Like somehow what comes after will be a work of art.

And it i do consider it to be so, though of another medium.

Afterwards, I'll admit this tryst wasn't one of my greatest works.

But I still end up brushing my teeth alone and

Running the water until it gets hot.

Because we're too young to play house

(Even though we will be sooner than we can imagine),

And it won't be just pretend.

 

3.

Some days I long for when I'll be rotting

Under the ground you walk on.

Even if you told me that blood is what makes its way through my veins,

I'd tell you that you're wrong.

How do you know just because some teacher told you?

Maybe the moon isn't even real.

You've never walked on it, have you?

Though I do hope the moon is alive.

 

4.

Some nights I struggle to belong.

My hands are covered in paint, and paint is covered in my hands.

It's too hard to wash off, so I'll just leave it be

Until one of them decides to go away.

I wonder which will be first, the paint, or my hands.

Those nights I am struggling

I think of my friends who think that they're kites,

And how to play house for real.

I was always good at playing pretend,

But the second you got serious

I'd just laugh.

That's why I'm scared.

I'm scared of that green rectangular piece of fabric

That makes the world go round-

(Which is why I think the sun is made of that stuff).

But who cares about getting stung by wasps?

Just cover it up with a band aid and it's over and done with.

If wasps won't take you seriously, then who will?

 

5.

For some reason I want to prove to you that I exist.

That's what the moon would like to prove to me.

So I'll put that paint that's on my hands onto something

That will last longer than them-

Perhaps forever.

So, tell the moon I'm sorry for making it feel left out,

And that for a while I didn't exist, either.

I think it's funny that one day I won't remain, but somehow

I will.