An event in the present,
Disguised as the past,
Laughter fills the air,
Dancing court members,
Flowers here and there,
Chalices raised,
Memories shared,
And a child becomes a woman.

A fawn, prancing about,
A skirt spinning to and fro,
Following with each cloven step,
Small horns upon her head,
Decorated with flowers,
Blues, silvers,
Greens and reds,
Purples and browns,
All colors can be seen,
In this land of magic.

A doll, given to a daughter,
Then tossed to the young,
Whom have yet to reach the special age,
The transitional age,
Of 15.

Alas, this day has not come to pass,
There is much to prepare for,
Stress, anxiety,
Oh, what would the people say?

"Hush",
My mother tells me,
"It's for you, not them",
"You decide, and don't care what they think."

Even so,
I fear the day,
Approaching so swiftly,
Unavoidable,
Pulling me towards it with each passing second,
Tick, tick, ticking away,
Growing closer,
To the day of my Quinceñera..

- Jay M
August 10th, 2019