I Was Trouble

I was trouble, a gremlin with dirt in my grin,

Pocketed candy, lies slick on my chin.

Sticky fingers, stolen things,

But no one asked why I needed wings.

I laughed like a fuse with a spark in my teeth,

Ran from the guilt and the cops on the street.

Said I was “bad,” said I was “wild,”

But I was just smoke from a burning child.

Took falls from bikes, cracked open my head,

Saw stars and silence, thought maybe I was dead.

Once my heart stopped—quiet as sleep—

They said I came back. I didn’t come cheap.

You call it a phase, a brat being loud,

But I was a scream no one heard in the crowd.

They punished the thief, they scolded the liar—

But never once wondered who lit the fire.

Now I sit with the ashes, older, half-whole,

A little less thief, but a long way from soul.

And still, in the mirror, that kid sometimes grins,

With dirt on their face—

And blood on their sins.