philosophically,
blue skies turn black
all the time,
especially for a teenager
plus 18 more years.
that's right,
I am still a kid
up there
in my noodle of emotion,
but time disagrees,
because I can count to 36.
she was a seamstress,
a waitress,
a hipster,
a slut,
a spy,
who put me in my place
and time.
it was just a weekend,
but it will last forever
in pages, poems and pondering
the one lesson learned,
maybe two,
because this was the second guess:
aim for the head,
baby,
I have no heart.