musings of a flighty teenager

in between.

when i cry, it's wrong
either all noise and no tears
or all salt and silent screaming
streaming
down my face until i taste my own sadness
and the salt leaves me bitter
scratching, seething, staring
screens that stay dark, threads that remain unread
pillows that need punching
and walls that need a head
slam. darkness. a momentary escape
the colors behind your eyelids were lavender
a sense of calm you used as bait
my anger is like table salt
it seasons all that i do
the flavor is comparable to hatred
of a life i've been subjected to
nothing but a trophy
or means to an end
a pushover and a validator
press my buttons, let me vend
a salt shaker to you
turn it over on your tongue
taste your sadness, savor your anger
you, yourself
should be your only danger

growing up and getting wise