Ah, rhetorics!

I gave my soul away, yesterday.
One hundred and two poems,
Stuck into a photo album,
Brown cover, cream pages,
That's me, all sixteen years and three months.
Neatly contained and indexed, dated for ease.
Chornologically orderd.
Now some one else is holding me,
Not quite knowing what they have,
Reading those poems and sighing,
For they are awful.
They are, after all, my soul.

My wallet, made of plastic,
Has a girl, on a duck,
Floating away into some unknown sky.
Is she so small, to fit on its back?
Or is the duck a product of radition
Or ill done scientific research?
Did it ask her polite to ride,
Or was she kidnapped, never to see
Her little mom or tiny pop?
Ah, rhetorics!

We shall see

I have not done this in a long time
Let the words flow off,
Let my body fill the chaste and pure page.
Now I give, I take, I leave these words.
Have I lost the skill, the way I once had?
Has time chipped it into non-existence?
We shall see.

It is another beginning,
The start of an end.
One more year in a school
That has defined and shaped four years,
Taken me from a child
To a slightly older child.
And from there, I move into
An old apartment,
Old camp chairs lying
Overturned on the porch,
Graffiti on walls failing into depravation
With “The Rest of Your Life”
On the mailbox.

I am dodging questions
With the wrong questions,
Leading the conversation away,
Toward something less dangerous
(Or so I thought, until, still,
He says it.)
I am afraid of saying yes.
I am afraid of my own emotions
Afraid of not knowing them.
And unsure of where they’ll take me.

Everything seems so important when you’re 16.
The world seems so full of possibilities,
So full of places and things,
And yet you are still the center,
(Is life a twinkie? Am I the cream?)
The only thing that matters.