metric tonnes of st johns wort

we were kids once

i'm not sure where that went,
gone into the floorboards with my first kiss

the very first time i stood up
and said, 
"I don't want children,"

and was immediately met by 
a dozen arguments
and "Oh, you'll see"

because, no, i don't see.
in fact, i actually see less

but my teenage frustration
is bulldozed over
and i have wishes for a spine

despite my fluctuating temper
and my nervous ability to crush 
the opposing side's points

i'm not claiming to be anything
other than what i am

but i'm saying i have a right to
have a say in who i am. 

because i can remember it, 
small feet and reedy voices, 

soles pounding on forest dirt, 
skinned palms against pavement, 
soft myriads of bruises against my pale thighs, 
throat so crushed i think i'm drowning, 
i remember when magic didn't exist anymore

and i can't seem to pinpoint
a specific date

"make a wish when your childhood dies"

i would, 
except my bones are collapsing
and i can't quite see anymore. 

The End

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