There is a Chuck Taylor black energy connecting Every one of my couch’s teens But please don’t generalize a single spirit And especially stay away from adjectives like “angsty” and “misunderstood” Never accuse them of such a cliché travesty At such an age spotlighted syndrome stage The Sufjan Stevens song she brings in has the same yearning That another’s canon snaps with trapped black and whites That same shadow tangos with the forced-into-therapy-tween’s faint scalloped smile lines of times before, when she had not been hunting for her own identity When she could spin around the willow And not worry about her eyelet ******* peeking through Then the cloud covered eighteen year old daisy Drags amber strands across forehead while she murmers Blame that oozes from her juvenile jawline, mirroring The prior sweetheart that stormed out of my office at 3:00pm Tawny strands across her wrist And how could I ever forget the last string of fiber Fierce and cross armed The last knot to the cat’s cradle of adolescent midnight string “I know I will conquer my genetic hand” She declares Bubblegum harbored in fleshy cheek Whiskers and all.
I hold sacred in my bones The appendage I am in all of this wide eyed need And I let the walls absorb their sighs Until, in awe I witness the beauty in vulnerability Again