Grant me the steady hand
to twist my door knob at two in the morning;
give me the words to
pray that it’s unlocked.
Drown me in being twenty;
let me swim through the smoke painted
air and feel
dangerous and unforgettable in the suburbs.
Give my memories away to the wind:
remind me of sitting on the carpet
while my friends talk about their
scraped knee third grade portraits,
and not of heart break
or the town too small to contain me.
Overflow me into a shallow basin
so that I can walk on water,
and still feel hellish.