adolescence

we’re sitting around a fireplace like we did when we were young,

when we would go on camping trips for scouts and had tattered braids and bandaids covering our knees,

but we arent whispering horror stories overheard at sleepovers about clowns and mirrors and windows

(we always tried to pretend they didn't scare us)

we aren't scared anymore.

we talk about sex and death and who we hate the most

girls with empty stomachs and empty laughs take photos of eachother with the flash on

i sit there, face burning up and back ice cold, hating my hands

scared of the towering trees and monsters that call and gaping holes of black that wait behind me

my loose hair is blown into my face by the second hand smoke

and i feel a stab in my stomach

i dont want to be there. i dont want to be homesick anymore

in my mind,

im sitting on the floor while strands of my hair hug and weave, become one braid under the will of my mothers gentle hands

it’ll be in ruins by the time im back home

(especially if we race to the buses once the dismissal bell rings).

sitting on the floor, i dont think about anything at all.

(except how excited i am for recess)

…

its already dark out

i place the weight on my back and barely lace my shoes

for a while, the flashing lights feel like being able to see color for the first time,

and the booze slipping down, covering my throat, is the best burn i’ve ever felt

i avoid glancing at lips moving because the noise doesnt sound like speaking anymore and im trying to ignore the fact that ive been looking at myself from outside of my body for a year now

i dont really know why i cried at that party

i had never used as much strength as i did that day, trying to pull my cheeks up into a smile that bears my chipped teeth

i was excited i got to be a girl that drank from a red cups

but i stared at the floor and ran to the bathroom

the weight caved through my back and bit at my ribs

i curled up as tight as possible on the ground with both hands covering my hot mouth and tried to fill my lungs

my cheeks warm and soaked with tears

but i dont know why i cried

i tried to conjure a reason

pulling on the strings my body strums to speak,

up through the well of my stomach came an empty bucket

i told myself it was probably my stepmoms cancer

(even though i had never cried about that before)

i dont know. maybe it was that fight with mom when i was 13. maybe it was the hospital. or eating lunch in the bathroom. i didnt sleep last night.

…

i hold my hands into a bird shape

and putting the back of my palms in front of the flames,

close my eyes

i see a very warm red

and then im young again

i stand and wait impatiently for mom to be done

when shes is, i hug her tight

my head only reaches her belly button (i dont know yet how a belly button comes to be)

i run, stumbling every step, along the rough concrete until the edge

(the lifegaurd blows his whistle at me because we arent supposed to run, but i ignore it)

and i jump

wings wide open

opening my eyes while i float for just a second

squeezing them shut once my body plunges

(i almost reached the floor of the pool this time!)

i stay below as long as possible

its calm and blue below, im happy below

i see the distant crowd of swimmers flaling their legs as they swim and waves of light bending through the water

under water, the laughs are muffled and a bit quieter.

the sound is a bit sweeter

but im happy above too

my friends are there, and i love the sun

moms braid stayed in

mom

i still love to live

stretching my arm out the car window, i let my hand ebb and flow under and above the stream of wind

im sorry we fight

but i wish i didnt have to apologize

i wish i had deniability, i wish i was immature, i wish i was dumb enough to see red and not realize i was wrong,

i wish i could hurt you but still be the one to cry

and you would still cradle me

because you’re my mother and im you’re daughter

im always your daughter

even when i braid my hair myself

…

we arent happy

we’re still scared

we want to learn

we want the world to be hidden from us

the happiness and moral innocence that fills a child is never redeamable

it can never be experienced again

you could try to explain to them, the children, how beautiful it is to be young

but they will always take it for granted

no child will ever understand how pure and full of life it is to be a child until its ripped from their hands

ill always miss the feeling of cupping innocence in my hands and being able to see my reflection

i always always will

i want to go back more than anything

maybe i will turn around at the fire

say goodbye to the kids who laugh, holding unlabeled bottles

maybe if i turn around

i’ll see the wild things

dancing through trees, laughing grizzly at the moon

i can return to something familiar

they’ll carry me from my shore to their land

and crown me their king.