Saltwater stings my throat 

and sand clings desperately to my 

torn skin 

I am a moth to a light. 

the thing that whispers to me 

in ghosts 

will probably burn off my wings. 

I am more than what I’m made of. 

When did I become less than my body? 

There are oceans on the moon 

but no water, so they aren’t 

really oceans. I would know 

if I saw one. No water. 

The danger of my truth tastes 

like salt & blood. 

How long do I have to peel open my scars 

just so I can breathe? 

I can’t remember exactly when 

dreaming became dangerous. 

Mom, I 

wish you could see the stars 

in my sleep. They’re really something. 

I am tired of being told. 

That’s it. Being told, 

and never allowed to just 

know on my own. 

I remember my ghosts. 

I miss me ten years ago. I miss me in ten years. 

Meanwhile 

I hide my cranberry tears behind my sleeve and wait for time to stop. 

I reach out to the moon 

hoping it will pull me out of 

time. 

Remember when you’d sing me 

lullaby songs? 

Some things you don’t notice 

until they’re gone.