poetry and photography by jill desmarais
I do not have the heart to tell
My guardian angel that I will
Be a woman of the world soon.
She knows people still underestimate
Me, she knows that I’m still picking
Which scar hurts the most.
I’m still trying to keep those in mind
Who have hurt me and ran off to God
Only knows where.
I’m still trying to to keep secrets to
Myself; tie a knot around each of them
And throw them to the sky.
Gravity is no issue.
Remember that I’m still naive.
Sometimes I still think the full moon
Is following me on the car ride home.
Remember that I’m still nostalgic.
I trace stars on fogged-up windows,
Tell the barista to keep the change.
I’m still touching wind-chimes that don’t
Even belong to me.
I’m still an empath that doesn’t flinch when
Her feelings are disrupted, toyed with, clawed
At and dismantled.
On my 18th birthday, the angels will be with me.
I will have a halo as well.