I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO WRITE POETRY.

First memory of a newborn who is 15 years old

I am lying in bed and the tv-head-box-with-the-springs-and-the-stars is off
I am lying in bed and my hair is short
And my face is smooth
And I am touching my skin
I am touching my skin for the first time and they are too
(The frightened 12 year old with the tv-head-box-with-the-springs-and-the-stars)
There are three of us, actually.
Me, and the frightened 12 year old who lives in me, and the little girl
Who lives in both of us
I am a matryoshka of personalities.
(Inside of a second matryoshka, if you get what I mean.)
Anyways.
I am lying in bed and I look at myself within myself and I look at the tv-head-
box-with-the-springs-and-the-stars
and I think
I am new. 
Who am I this time.
And suddenly the frightened 12 year old is not there
And they cannot give me the answer.

Horse

Love is like
A horse
To me
No.
Not like that.
Not because it is swift, or beautiful, or shy and brazen and wild all at once
(Though it is all those things as well)
It is because Love is a stranger to me that 
I hated because I didn't know it
(Feared it, maybe)
(Or maybe just for no reason at all. I needed something
To pour a little hatred into
That wasn't something
Deeper.)
Though
You changed them
Both for me

Paintmixing

I go into the woods when it happens.
My room is tight and narrow
And it squeezes the blood out of me with its heavy hands.
In the woods my blood flows lazily 
Oozes down my arms.
We all dream of matching our pain to artwork
So I take steps to mix the two

Bite

Took a bite of something that I shouldn't today
Sort of thing they tell you to steer clear of, cause it's no good
But when you're this far down or that high up, it's hard to tell what's what
Forgot I used to love it like a hungry animal
Forgot I was one

Moment

I woke up and for a moment
Thought I smelled your neck on the covers
But the moment passed as most things do