Days that would last for weeks
the hot heavens glaring down
on our small confused bodies.
being an aries, the year of the rat, the sign of the ram:
it all meant something.
i let those years fall through my
chubby untouched hands.
craving the hour id lose my virginity
have my first sip of teenage love
and burn my tongue.
i miss not worrying all the time.
if my hair fell out it was because
my sisters braided it too tight.
if i cried it was for bambi's mum
or a skint knee.
boys were for racing and climbing with.
i had a *** bottom and a poo bottom.
i didn't know my dad and I didn't have to.
my mum was my everything.
my mum never cried.
she didn't even have a first name.
i crave Velcro on my pink power-puff-girl shows
that lit up when i raced the boys,
when swear words were forbidden,
and baby's came from seeds, implanted via special bellybutton key.
i was tall and thin with dark hair and dark eyes.
these were just things.
spots were marks my sister got and hormones were a foreign country.
i didn't care about my thighs or my hair or my teeth
or the colours i wore or the size of my waist.
i wanted to race on my scooter
racing from dragons and robbers and wizards and dinosaurs
into the realms of boyfriends, *******, spots and ***.
i thought it would be magical to be in such a hurricane of adolescence.
but my dragons and light up trainers are a magic we only taste one.
i crave the innocence.