Eleven

A Poem

Photo by Alex Skobe on Unsplash

i thought i knew all the answers
at the tender age of eleven —
when adolescence had yet to snare me
and hope had yet to die on the vine within me

eleven roses wilted on their stems,
petals becoming a stream of dying ends —
their coffins laid to rest in pitiful rows,
all the while their mothers cried tears of blood

eleven — i don’t like to think of it,
those days when everything
stood still in fragments,
when death felt so close i could choke

eleven — that’s the age i wanted to be
forever —
before boys tainted the lens,
before girls made their catty calls

eleven — that’s the time i wanted to cherish
even as everyone grew up in tune,
never missing a beat,
while i questioned every goddamn thing

eleven — i wanted nothing more
than a promise without ending,
a tomorrow without strings,
a balloon that never lost its air