Days that would last for weeks the hot heavens glaring down on our small confused bodies. being an aries, the year of the rat, the sign of the ram: it all meant something. i let those years fall through my chubby untouched hands. craving the hour id lose my virginity have my first sip of teenage love and burn my tongue. i miss not worrying all the time. if my hair fell out it was because my sisters braided it too tight. if i cried it was for bambi's mum or a skint knee. boys were for racing and climbing with. i had a *** bottom and a poo bottom. i didn't know my dad and I didn't have to. my mum was my everything. my mum never cried. she didn't even have a first name. i crave Velcro on my pink power-puff-girl shows that lit up when i raced the boys, when swear words were forbidden, and baby's came from seeds, implanted via special bellybutton key. i was tall and thin with dark hair and dark eyes. these were just things. spots were marks my sister got and hormones were a foreign country. i didn't care about my thighs or my hair or my teeth or the colours i wore or the size of my waist. i wanted to race on my scooter racing from dragons and robbers and wizards and dinosaurs into the realms of boyfriends, *******, spots and ***. i thought it would be magical to be in such a hurricane of adolescence. but my dragons and light up trainers are a magic we only taste one. i crave the innocence.