Fifteen years old and she inspired me,

handing me a template to fill with words

even though I am empty,

        limited and repetitive, and

             out of poorly executed ideas.

                        Before her I stand ready

                            to jump, hoping that the

                               few moments of possibility

                                   will multiply and catch me.

                                      Before her I am hoping to be caught.

                                   When she asks me why I have

                               replicated her form, I will say

                          that I needed her to help

                     bring me up to twelve.

                Eventually there will be

          others to share with her

if she asks me why.

Fifteen years old and she challenged me,

unaware that I had even seen her words

that curved within the blank

          white space of adolescence.

                  Quickly she creates a base

                            from which to grow, getting

                                     the painful attempts out early.

                                         Before me she is hoping to be caught.

                                     When I ask her why she has left

                            so much blank white space, she will

                  say that I needed her to help bring me

          up to twelve, and soon there will be

others for her to share.


Fifteen years old and she answered me

with her head hitting the keyboard.