Nine

I’ve gotten good at hiding, when I feel like hiding.

My mouth is great at running, when I feel like running.

Now I’m biting the hairs on my arm like I do

when I don’t know where I am or what I should do.

I’ve been blessed with these eyes that come

with innocent questions like where I’m from.

Holding expectations to give obvious answers and tell no lies.

But I swear there’s nothing innocent in these eyes,

because I’ve seen dead friends, and I’ve seen murder,

and I’ve done things I wish I hadn’t done.

But that’s not to say that I’m not afraid

of long nights dwelling on past mistakes,

because with life moving as fast as it does,

I’ll still have stories to f**king tell.