In my childhood, I was a believer who held onto the edges of innocence with such grip my palms cried out with sweat.
In my childhood, I was a watcher from the rooftop of my grandparents house, and everybody knew me as the girl with lilacs in her hair, dancing down Glen Brook rd. I knew every place to hide and every crack in the driveway had a name, like the lines on my hands that tell stories of playing with the boys and getting caught with matches because I wanted to light the flowers so grandma could find her way home when she lost her way.
In my childhood, I wished my life away too fast. To get back the scabs and scars that laced my body of reminders that nothing we ever do is wrong.