it’s
cutting your hair
and packing your bags,
it’s drinking champagne
in your best pair of jeans.
it’s
growing out bangs,
unbuttoning shirts –
to think yours had been closed up to the
throat, all these years –
and everything, all white.
it’s
sunburned noses
and no makeup, it’s
less backward glances
and more plans
for the future.
it’s holding a conversation
and making eye contact,
it’s meeting a man
and letting your feet
grow roots.
it’s
more music, less running,
more danger, and more safety,
and it’s
finally, having a taste
for the classics.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
it’s
cutting your hair
and packing your bags,
it’s drinking champagne
in your best pair of jeans.
it’s
growing out bangs,
unbuttoning shirts –
to think yours had been closed up to the
throat, all these years –
and everything, all white.
it’s
sunburned noses
and no makeup, it’s
less backward glances
and more plans
for the future.
it’s holding a conversation
and making eye contact,
it’s meeting a man
and letting your feet
grow roots.
it’s
more music, less running,
more danger, and more safety,
and it’s
finally, having a taste
for the classics.
Request permission to use this poem