Childhood is a Slur

I was a Nutter-Butter, chubby cheeked girl who always played the boy in pretend I grew in pink-skirted, princess crowned swingsets I wanted to be a singer until Mia Millonzi told me to stop because I was too loud I was eight years old; the world "sensational" was bigger than me and every friend I had then is not a friend now My hair dried like a ribcage where my little heart pumped ice cream cone, rollerskate skid, chalk sidewalk through each breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, and hold it Don't grow up yet Time flies whether fun is playing hooky or not; the years are like hide and go seek and you're standing in the open spaces, gap-toothed faces Light-up sneakers to liquor sleepers sleeping with everything they're telling you not to But they're so warm, like a mother's kiss on the forehead but, not at all, really I often ponder about What Nutter-Butter, chubby cheek, ribcage hair, sing-too-loud Sara would think of herself now Would she be proud? Would yours be proud too?