Oh, I,

I am the girl,

the girl with the curly brown hair,

with straightened bangs,

bangs that have grown too long—

long enough to hide my eyes from the world

(but never long enough to hide the world from my eyes).

I know what goes on,

and in that I am naïve.

I have the heart of an infant,

beating as fast as a baby’s.

I have the mouth of a weathered sailor

and my tongue, a flaming brand;

but I cooled it, soaked it in ice before pointing it at you,

because I don’t want to hurt you,

because I care too damned much.

But my mind,

my mind is my own.

Always full,

I’ve never had a clear head.

I feel things that I can’t explain, and thoughts,

thoughts bubble to the surface,

only to fizzle out once they hit the light,

so I keep my mind in the dark.

This poem is about: 



The baby's heart reference is actually true.

I haven't been to the doctor or anything, but we were messing with a heart-rate monitor that my grandparents had purchased.

My brother, gradma, and grandpa all had around 60/65 beats per minute while I had 95/100 beats per minute (I was not in an excited state).

My grandma said that that is the normal heart-rate for babies.

So there you go!

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! Please never stop expressing from the heart. Continue the journey of poetry. 

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