writing process

i wrote the first draft on the hood of your car,
legs searing hot
as you propped me up
above the engine—
our reckless lips burning
feverishly,
your tongue the only soothing balm.

yes, you wanted to revise me,
but you didn’t know i was editing myself;
falling in step now, us two.
back then,
it was only hallways
& your hand slipping under my shirt
that kept me alive.

feral animals prowling in the dark;
fingernails craving blood from your back.
exhausting ourselves
from childish passion, infinite
iterations.
laying entwined on the filthy mattress;
my sanity scattered in a heap on the floor.

slowly, i am noticing
smudges in your penciled-in perfection;
how your jaw looks unhinged as you step a little closer,
leaving scars of shame on my neck,
cavernous holes in my soul.
i lean back, but not far enough;
& yet, i slip over the edge.

here you are next to me,
eyes opening to acknowledge dawn,
a gaping hole of onyx & fallen stars—
dark as the story we began to write that summer,
one with you as my hero
& me as your princess,
coping with burns from our fire.

By Hazel Thekkekara

Biography:

Hazel Thekkekara is a high school junior from Atlanta, Georgia. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Polyphony Lit, Eunoia Review, and Cathartic Literary Magazine, among others. When she’s not writing, Hazel can be found rewatching David Suchet’s Poirot, baking triple-chocolate brownies, or taking her dog on long walks around the neighborhood.