let lemons be angry

all of these things laid out
on a windowsill, for the sun
to discolour:
my awkward gait at fourteen
the hate circle on the stairs
flattery and anorexia and algebra
my wicked bone, melting away
you, you, and you in the glitter pen words
of the secret diaries of a growing girl

and all these things for the rain to disfigure:
the gap between sweet and bitter
letter traps and gasping last words
parades unmarched, costumes lost
movies unwatched in songless rooms
your imperfection, but above all,
ropes that were cut, not one, not two,
but one thousand ropes
that were keeping me together-
and the house that will never be

and these things remain:
backyard fireworks and that white back
clap and the flame goes out
my flower
wings