I always thought that I
was the protagonist of my story,
why then, are you trying
to make it about yourself

The worst birthday present I ever received
Words my sister says to me
End of August never belonged to me
It belonged to my sister, a day after mine yet two years older
It belonged to my cousin a year older same day
It belonged to my other cousin four days before mine
It belonged to my cousin younger but died of leukemia before childhood could end
My birthday has never belonged to me
It never will

I have a bad habit of holding on to things I no longer need
I hold onto people the same way
believe in them---
try to build them up while they break themselves down
But I'm not a contractor
I don't have a permit for this operation
I can't keep avoiding the inevitable
I hate this part
This part always comes with a goodbye

My words often drip with sarcasm
or spit out with such bluntness you'd spend nights lying awake thinking of them
My words hang unspoken on the walls like a crooked picture
      out of place
my words are carefully chosen and have a lust for hyperbole
my words build up self esteem in one phrase and tear it apart the next
my words
     my words
          my words
 my words will caress your body  
will fill your mind with reassurance and love
will tease your skin like feathers
dance across your memory like ballerinas en pointe
                                                     my words
                                                  my words
                                             my words
My words ****** you like the siren they are---luring you to your ultimate demise

I wish I was someone who took risks instead of calculated safe
I wish I could be spontaneous money worthless
Instead I'm careful and blunt
I am selfish to those who don't know me well
Resting ***** face is my second name
If you invite her she will back out
we're not worth her time
my time is instead spent lying on my bed reading a book I've read a hundred times over
because leaving and doing something takes so much out of me
I can't live wrecklessly
I can't be adventerous
I am too much impulse control
here take some of mine
I don't need it
I don't want it
I don't want this

I hold these superstitions dear to me
knowing they're nonsense and choosing to ignore that reality
I step cautiously over the cracks in the sidewalk on good days
and on bad ones I stomp on every one hoping you feel the pain that I do
I know you don't deserve it mother, but my feet land on them still
I still throw spilled salt over my shoulder
hoping that maybe this time some luck will come of it
and I avoid walking under ladders if not for safety's reason than for those years of bad luck
Believe me when I say that I know these petty rituals won't affect an invisible force like luck
But I wear my night shirt inside out and backwards thinking that somehow it will cause snow to appear
These superstitions of mine may be childish
It may be downright insane for any sensible young woman to believe in such a thing
But I hold onto this childish hope that maybe
just maybe
If I do enough of these superstitious acts
that my life will finally turn around
and for once I will be lucky....