Graduate.

Mitsubishi,

back seat,

"Let's go girls!"

Beat,

drops.

Seat belt?

Check.

Fears?

Gone.

Drop-top

hair dryer,

and 

N*Sync

on the 101.1,

& Jellies,

& Pigtails.

Do I look like

Baby Spice?

Do I smell like

Cucumber Melon?

Sweet Pea?

Aussie, and

Abercrombie

& Fitch, 

White Hot?

Taking 

all the heat,

for

throwing foam

from a chair

and,

cracking my

recorder

over 

Juan's

knee.

Suspension.

When did

we stop

being

Hardasses?

Fearless?

Brave?

Somewhere between

political parties

and

middle school

sleepovers,

up

until the

sunrise,

laughing at

everything

and

nothing

at all.

Skinny dipping

in the pool,

and

sneaking into

uncharted

territory,

and

farms,

and

back woods,

where we used to have

bonfires, and

scream,

The Quiet Things

That No One

Ever

Knows.

We never even

considered

keeping our

feet

on

the

ground.

It left us

high

on our

own supply,

trading

cliques

for a position

in your

Top 8.

Scandalous.

Dramatic.

Adolescent angst

at it’s finest,

and we’re losing it.

Watching it

slip away,

little by little.

Comfort is

our God,

now.

Submission is

easy,

dressed in

oversized

sweats,

and

“protecting

our peace.”

It comes with

a tablet,

and a

10-step

skincare

routine.

Becoming

is harder.

Undoing,

is tough.

Bearing

the weight

of the burden

of being

alive,

is the

full

span of

our

crosses,

and then

some.

Will you

put on

the

backpack?

It’s LL Bean.

It has your

NAME

on it.

Or does

the

first day

of school

scare you

too much

to put it

back on?

Don’t worry.

We all

graduate,

eventually.

Though,

I don’t

think

all of us

get

to

walk.