13 is Still My Identity

I peer over at the candlelight dancing on the wall, the woman’s voice aches in the background, and I still see the mirror reflection of 13.

Heartache, heartbreak, and fighting the demons in my mind.

12 years, several relationships, bad habits, good friends, and I have turned full circle back into adolescence.

Do we change?  Do we just keep going back into messed up blankets, stuffed animal companionship, and hormonal rage?

I’d like to think that the raindrops speak the truth, as Khan stated in a roundabout way.

I’d like to think that the cold rush of wind is speaking to me, as if to say, “Wake up.  Open your eyes.  Feel your presence.  Live your life accordingly.”


Angry women writing breakup music, love spells, teenage anguish, and thoughts of bloody arms remind me that being a woman bears the fruits of complex mental processes with no clear resolution.


Repair the 13 year old girl.  Woman trapped.

She knows better.  She does it anyways.


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