I am A Teen

I’m not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m. , I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance  with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin, it has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

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