Fifteen, a rare, precious, peach-skin thin age,
with a ticket to fly out, far away from home.
A few months gone across the sea, to the Isle of Green.
Work in a shop, in a foreign land, with friends.
But twisted in a toxic relationship, hands like vines
that said, “I don’t want to let you go, you’re mine.”
How much a life would have changed from a no to a yes,
if I had gone across the sea
Ten years earlier than I did for me.