My hometown looks so much older now.
The sky is drooping down and sinking all these houses into the ground.
It’s the first time I’ve slept in this room
And didn’t fear the dark,
But I still feel shadows standing behind me
Leaning on the door frame with my height marks.
Someday when I’m taller
Someone will paint this room a different color.
And I’ll hold a funeral for the oak tree,
The oldest thing that’s ever known me.
I hope the roots hold my skeleton
A veil over my skull,
Decayed and elegant
I already feel irrelevant
A kid who still thinks medicine is poison.
Josephine is a high school student, bookworm, and an aspiring Jo March. She spends small town Florida days enraptured by books and poetry. Her writings are best read with a cup of tea and belief in magic.