Confessional by Jordan Davidson (17, Colorado)

I can’t speak to you in the way I used to 
Because I don’t know how the words 
Should come out and in my head they 
Sound perfect even poetic but they dry on my 
Tongue harsh fragments that grit against 
My teeth and peel back my dry lips.

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My mother taught me a superstition once, 
That when your lips split down the middle dry 
And your mouth tastes like blood and 
You wake up with your cheeks aching 
And your jaw clenched from fighting 
Against the medicinal lacquer that follows  
Vague and incomprehensible nightmares,
That really the nightmares have surrendered 
To a darker, more dangerous force, claws out, 
Hell bent on reaping destruction inside your head.

So what I’m really fighting is some secret, 
Some truth turned angry and irascible creature
Because at the end of the day a human lies to 
Hide something and that creature I’m 
Hiding is going to break free so I know that 
I have to tell you but through my split lip I can’t. 
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