this is the juicy juvenescence of thick jam melting into milk. my soft and serious sunday feelings sustained by cereal and the sun, an oozy cotton ball osmosing through the wall. i google the impossible: how to bring back buried memories of being a moon princess.
a dewy 7.45am: my hair is wet, the clothes all wrong, the episode running too long. i am late for school, where i draw doors on walls and run headfirst into them. here, the impossible is the friend who leaves only to come back.
a gooey 3.25pm: i search the streets and vinyl seats for suburban superhero boyfriends. they would not taste of chocolate milk and plastic, these sundae dreamboats under golden arches. i put the straw between my lips. i want their eyes to loll out of their heads. i want them to take the time to put them back.
over and over, i ran to school with toasts between my teeth. the world’s lined edges did not bend and burn with my growing pains, the latchkey kid locking the doors from her parents. they were too big to fit the screen, headless and incurably grown. the impossible was not good triumphing evil, it was a kind dad pouring spices into a pot.
now sunday mornings are headaches of undodgeable doom, milk teeth clattering in crates. my friends never saved the world. they’ll go to business school and put off having original thoughts. i am left with short skirts. stars aligned. lingering tastes.
this is the juicy juvenescence of thick jam melting into milk. my soft and serious sunday feelings sustained by cereal and the sun, an oozy cotton ball osmosing through the wall. i google the impossible: how to bring back buried memories of being a moon princess.
a dewy 7.45am: my hair is wet, the clothes all wrong, the episode running too long. i am late for school, where i draw doors on walls and run headfirst into them. here, the impossible is the friend who leaves only to come back.
a gooey 3.25pm: i search the streets and vinyl seats for suburban superhero boyfriends. they would not taste of chocolate milk and plastic, these sundae dreamboats under golden arches. i put the straw between my lips. i want their eyes to loll out of their heads. i want them to take the time to put them back.
over and over, i ran to school with toasts between my teeth. the world’s lined edges did not bend and burn with my growing pains, the latchkey kid locking the doors from her parents. they were too big to fit the screen, headless and incurably grown. the impossible was not good triumphing evil, it was a kind dad pouring spices into a pot.
now sunday mornings are headaches of undodgeable doom, milk teeth clattering in crates. my friends never saved the world. they’ll go to business school and put off having original thoughts. i am left with short skirts. stars aligned. lingering tastes.