twelve.

I've fought my whole life to not become bitter, angry, and cold
but, you know, sometimes you're born this way.

I cannot get away from the thoughts that from the moment you're born
bloody, cold, and suddenly the most alone you'll ever be,
every planet in the sky maps out on earth the path that carves
like river through rock, turning a river into a canyon,
what your personality will be.

with the emotional and intuitive comes the jealous and resentful
the powerful and passionate with the compulsive and obsessive
one side magnetic, the other obstinate
shrouded in secrets like a thick layer of smoke, choking your every breath.

it's the experiences that shape you, but who lays out the path?
there are patterns that reoccur over and over inexplicably.
we emulate what we hate most about our parents, and then hate ourselves
we fall in love with women like our mothers, men like our fathers,
and make friends with the troubled ones, the ones that promise to hurt.
We take drugs, get drunk, then when the time is right, take pills
to forget all our relationships exist and are unhealthy,
just like our addictions.

I forget about the girl with six fingers, Stephanie,
who slept with her eyes open and did me no wrong
and yet left with every other childhood friend
to that magical place of Wisconsin, land I'll never see.

I forget about Samantha, the bossy girl in the blue house.
who played with me for the sake of abusing,
like all wicked little girls do.
she held me hostage, my own little hands writhing, held behind my back.
our first impression being my teeth on her skin.

I forget about Jordan, Stacey, Julie, Jenny and all of them.
under the impression that best friends means friends forever,
and yet you always have to flee, or else be beaten down by emotions.
especially after boys came into play-
girls are made to leave all ties behind for a boy.

Now I forget again, quitting girls for years, only to be let down again
i fought becoming bitter,
but myself is the only person i can trust.