I guess,
instead of anger
I feel sadness.

I guess,
that is apart
of growing up.  

Memories slip between cotton sheets, plaid underwear.

Voices seep between thin walls, thin thighs.

School bus rides.

The ones on the way to a field trip.

Belly's flip, sun kissed.

Sitting in the back of the bus just to feel it, to feel the...

I don't know who I am anymore.

Memories passed like green grass

green screen, green memory
greened out.

Fade to black,
or so she thought.

So she said.

Maybe it's all in my head,
maybe it's a nursery rhyme,
a rhyme or a reason,

maybe I'm late, maybe it's the wrong season.