"What's your current mood?"
"Well, I'm anxious. But I'm literally anxious all the time. And sleepy. Basically I'm just chill today."*


What makes us girls
might be
when we're silhouetted
as we walk home with a pizza in our arms.
When I stole your band shirt and washed my hair in your sink and then cut it over a pink towel in my lap.
Us sitting under a bridge,
graffiti,
telling us nothing is real,
as birthmarks,
next to the railroad tracks as a train flies by
and tousles our hair.
Your eyes hurting because of the sleep hanging on them
with dark, stained fingers.
Passing a wedding
and being tempted to crash it.
An empty, blue bottle of whipped-cream flavored *****
lying in the dry grass.
Waking up to the sounds of a block party outside.
Knowing that if 11-year-old you saw you now,
she wouldn't believe her eyes.
Laughing until you're positively sure you're bruised inside.
Screaming with joy
because I finally finished my math homework.
Swearing I'm going to grow up and write a sitcom
based on our adventures when I grow up.
Wearing shirts with angel wings on the back.
And
being both terrified
and back-of-your-head-hurts-excited
for the future.