i remember how much
i despised coffee
when i was younger:
i’d wake up and smell it in the air,
sniff the contents of my father’s mug,
nose crinkling up at the scent,
and now it’s the only thing
waking me up in the morning,
keeping me up at night,
pushing me through the day.

this is growing up,
my mother tells me.

and i don’t mean to be,
but i’m surrounded by boys
with dimples that **** me slowly,
who think love lies
on the surface of my skin,
who know how to expertly manipulate,
and i’m stuck in an inescapable maze,
running on my wheel as fast as i can,
never going anywhere.

this is growing up,
i hear my mother’s voice
ringing in my ear.