naivete has always played a funny roleshifting from blessing to curse, for the better or for the worseexisting on her own selfish terms
I once dreamt that there were nails in my forearms,
I never wanted to write bitterly about you.
blinded and uncomfortable,
once by lies and fear, now decrepit
The summer seventh, with hopscotch lines scratched into the sidewalks, with sweet lime candies, with screeching swings. You were sunlight and beach…