a girl on my floor is engaged and i haven't even had a boyfriend but this mostly doesn't have anything to do with that.

my bookshelf is overflowing with good intentions
and my eyes are overflowing with misperceptions
and my mind is telling me to pay attention
and my heart is telling me about imperfection

because i'm watching with shaking hands.
i'm asking if i understand.
i'm learning about myself and
and i'm learning that i'm made of sand.

and i'm a sand girl
with a sand castle
and the ocean is brushing my hair out of my face
like mama always did,

with her fingers slotting through the strands.
with my fingers slotting through the sands.
and you can tell my mind it's supposed to expand,
but it'll tell you about my hands
and how they aren't as soft as they're supposed to be.

my thoughts are written out on my ribcage
and my skin is as quiet as a blank page
"you'll understand when you're older" isn't a stage
and they'll tell me to act my age,
but i'm falling asleep to the lullaby that played when i turned the key.

sand girls and boys
line up and down the road
and we're asking what we're doing.
we're older.
we're wiser.
we'll lie to our sisters when they ask us,

because they'll understand when they're older.
they'll understand when they're colder.
they'll understand when their shoulder
shrugs off the questions of their sisters.

because my bookshelf is overflowing with good intentions,
and my eyes are overflowing with misperceptions
and the wind is taking me apart as i get older.
the wind is taking me apart as i get colder.
the wind is taking me apart and my hands aren't as soft as they used to be.
and the wind is taking me apart as i get older.


--erin