“The day everyone grew up, I overslept,” Alaska Gold.
The first time my clothes stained crimson
I thought it was a bullet wound
so I cried and cried thinking I was dying.
They wanted me to weild my bra straps like a weapon
to make the cockiest of boys fall to their knees,
but I was busy hiding the sharp angles of my body
and working out the right way to pronounce lingerie.
So when he tries to sneek his tongue into my mouth
my teeth will be in the way,
and to be completely honest
it’s hard enough to speak over the sound of my self-doubt
let alone kiss parragraphs on the back of your throat.
Soon enough, he’ll pretend to be a baker
to put his hands on my boobs and knead the little mounds.
And just what the fuck do I do with my hands?
Because my eyes were closed in anatomy class
and the closest I’ve ever come to a condom are balloons.
And I’m scared of the sunrise
because I felt my bones stopped growing last night
and no thermometer will tell me what’s left of my childhood.
I guess what I’m trying to say is
I still forget to brush my teeth sometimes
and I cry a little when I’m told to act my age.
In case you hadn’t realized
I’m not ready to grow up.
Alaska Gold writes beautifully.