she

by Elsa Han
10/2/24

girlhood is the ghost on the tip of my tongue
who haunts sallow midnights and
can never brine herself to utter a word.

ghost girl, shadow circles, cracking lip tint
bloody and stretched
thin, dark, distorted
a mannerist painting’s cotton-smiled protagonist
pearl draping hand-spanned neckline
one chain link tighter and i will choke.

shadowy vision of an autumn that will never fall
my invisible screams muted by cloud cover,
buried in grass and dewdrops, lively
but not life; my veins are pale and dry
as the wilting blossoms of white clover
etching their way onto my gravestone.

cemetery girls, forgotten names, witching hours
ticking by as cold nights sweep past stone
we are all buried under the weight of a world
with no place for our dust-covered dreams.

***

(This piece is part of our yearlong series called Heart Beets that features the work of a group of teen writers, giving us a glimpse into their journey through the school year.)