http://b3ta.com/newsletter/issue193/
pre teen poetry, isn't pre teen tortured poetry fun! hoooray!

INDEPENDENCE

Her skin popped
as the hot water devoured her.
She closed her eyes
and breathed in air
heated by her fourty watt vanity mirror
within eleven minutes
she could be asleep;
her mom wouldn't knock for at least
thirty.

She wondered if she
would float,
recalling first swimming lessins
when she stretched her arms
to be leveled with her
shoulders, and float along
the chlorine.

She wondered if her
skin would turn blue
like the commercial
where the boy holds his breath
untill his sister hands over
the all-natural ice cream.

She wondered if the water
would still be warm enough
to boil her brain
when it entered her ears.

The ring around
the tub reminded
her of sitting in
a measuring cup full of
broken egg yolks
about to be beaten into a cake,

the cake with white frosting
that she always licked once
before scraping it on to the plate.

If within 11 minutes she
rolled onto her side
would she taste
that cake
and allow it's sponge
to absorb the salt from
the sore she nervously chewed.
would that sore
heal if her skin
turned blue?

She kept her eyes closed
and lied relaxed
while the heat turned to warm,
and the tub water fogged.

Her mom knocked, "hey."
she said outside the door.

She remained still but felt her tear
ducts bulge
and her blood crash outside her veins.

"Hey!" her mom knocked quicker
and she snapped open her eyes
and with a full voice answered,
"yeah?"
she sat up and said,
"what?"
"Oh, just checking."

She smiled
and thought of the bathroom air
as the same she breathed
in west virginia
near a river.

Something in her sinuses opened
and allowed breaths to
equally distribute thoughout her.

her mom was helpless next to
her strength.


The end. Don't turn it in, you will be lectured about pre teen suidcide. Hooray!
(Willa'sname, Tue 16 Aug 2005, 2:22, Reply)