it hurts to think.



thinking brings salty crystal drips

tracing paths down my cheek

and a million insecurities take over.



i never meant to feel this way.



i remember

licking ice-creams in the piazza

our dungarees dirty with mud

my skin looked black against your pale white hand.



i flirted, age 8, with the ice cream man, age 18

you laughed

until you saw the way my ice cream was bigger then yours,

then you sighed in jealousy



so we swapped.



we lay on hot tiles by the blue swimming pool

birght swimming costumes wet against our flat chests

in voices that smelt of bubblegum and grapes

we spoke of eyeshadow and daydreams and teddies and heaven.



we got our diary keys and cut our thumbs

with the pointy edge

in the darkness of the siesta



and in the flickering flame of a candle

stolen from a church hall

(forgive me, padre)

we pressed our thumbs together

and vowed to be friends forever.



we don’t talk any more.



i wish i was still in dungarees

with dirty knees

and freckles dotted on a brown face

swapping ice-creams and secrets and blood.



now,



life is more storm then sunshine



and now,



i can’t find the scar on my thumb.





 this is a poem i sent in to TYWC as well, but i just wondered what more people thought of it