if my house burnt down

So many many poems

I hope when I die they do something with them

this isn't really a poem, it's just

sort of a message

see, I wonder when I'm gone

who's gonna remember my pen names

on 30 different websites

who's gonna know where to find my words

to find my heart, on paper

or on html...whatever

I mean I'm only sixteen but I girl's gotta worry

about things like that

I mean girls, we're supposed to worry bout everything

I mean, most girls know what they want their wedding ring to look like

not me, I don't like that stuff really, it's just a ring goddamn it

But who's gonna know

I mean what happens if my house burns down

there go all my poems

since I was six, that's a decade right there

a decade of like a zillion poems and songs and stories

and strange personal essays, something I invented I think

at least I've never seen any others

so who's gonna know

I mean, really who the hell would know?

After all, on the outside

no one could even tell, they couldn't even take a guess

that I have pen names, and notebooks

notebooks galore.