Lifespan Integration

Poetry by Alexis Ayala

I wish I could be 8 once more.

In reality, I wish I could walk back through that door.

Imagining myself playing care-free,

But I think back to an 8-year-old me…

With nightmares of ghosties that want me dead,

A slice from a knife possessed my lil head.

Thousands of thoughts crawl like a centipede.

What 8-year-old wants to watch herself bleed?

Meme made me promise not to call her Mama.

Mama, you should be in a coma from all my trauma.

Your organs oughtta cement themselves in spite.

You made your 8-year-old wanna burn in 1800° Fahrenheit.

Maybe I wanted to grow up faster, or maybe not at all,

Either way, that wasn’t in the rules of my life’s protocol.

I grew like my favorite perennial;

8-year-old me got me ready for my next burial.

I wish I could be 17 once more.

In reality, I wish I could walk back through that door.

Imagining myself partying in the VIP,

But I think back to a 17-year-old me…

Loving a boy that cheats and calls me a whore.

Bonding over a 24-pack rapidly turned into war.

Drawn together from issues with our mama’s

What’s a 17-year-old me without tissues and drama?

When he was in and out of jail, I remained incarcerated.

My mind’s negative thoughts accumulated.

Alcohol began as a fun escape,

Until it opened the door to a 17-year-old’s statutory rape.

This time it was clear;

I didn’t want to persevere.

The lake: a glass sheet. The jump: a miraculous feat.

Left incomplete when CPR got my 17-year-old heart to beat.

Living in the past makes me feel like a prisoner of war.

In reality, I never wanna walk back through those doors.

Thinking about the progression made through the years

I realize that 21-year-old me lives in the most in fear…

I’m running a first-year business, and nobody cares

That the millionaires are shady, but I’ll make you aware.

With no paper for food, how the fuck do I persevere?

For 21-year-old me to make it, I found another career.

So, I’m in a shitty hotel room with a rich, old man.

Statistically, this reduces the time in my overall life-span.

But I decided my life was worth less than a hundred bills.

Did 8-year-old me know 21-year old me would be so mentally-ill…

Obviously, she knew.

My luck was the one thing that always stayed true.

Bad luck comes in threes; so far, that’s persisted for me.

My brain’s caged; an 8-year old’s mind should be free.