12

i thought i'd write to steal you,
but who am i kidding?
i'm no writer, i'm no artist,
i'm only seventeen.

i'm only a girl;
i was born to be broken.

so i went downstairs and walked around the street, glasses off, stared at my white breath like a stranger.

walked and walked for half an hour,
in jogging shorts and yellow sweater.

in the streets, nobody knows my name
and nobody can see inside my chest
and nobody can see my shame.

i wish i were in seattle,
because there, the rain understands me
and understands what i mean
when i tell it to wash away everything.