At 13, I first felt it

The briskness of butterflies

The heat of spring

A seed was planted

And a flower began to grow.

As winter came,

The green wilted away

The wings clipped off

Those little love bugs

Like hair pins

Nestled in a rat’s nest.

It was easier back then

Falling over and kissing my heels

Every time he neared.

Yet he turned to it

And it turned to nothing

As the days passed.

But my laments still scatter

In the wind

As I watch pink water

Rise and fall with each

Heartbeat,

I’m now eighteen, Hoping

I may feel it

Again.