(no subject)
Four females, hands palm-to-palm connecting circle.
Lives intertwined, linking heart to heart.
Girly giggles spouting over shared secrets.
This is the life of a twelve-year-old girl.
I miss these days,
bicycles rambling down suburban streets
Reaching the playground with its
swings, bars, slides, beams.
But mostly, the girls I share them with.
Blushing over whispered secrets, forbidden questions.
"Where DO babies come from?"
Sleepovers: living room floors, scary movies, Truth or Dare.
Painting toenails, applying premature blush,
more glitter, more glitter, more glitter.
Dress-up in antiquated clothings from days of mothers youth.
High heels slipping from heels that fall inches from fitting.
Hugs and tears exchanged over silly nothings
at the time so huge.
I miss these days of close friendships,
vows so utopian in nature.
I have grown, ne'er to return to this stage of innocence.
It seems strange to mourn something so sweet.
Lives intertwined, linking heart to heart.
Girly giggles spouting over shared secrets.
This is the life of a twelve-year-old girl.
I miss these days,
bicycles rambling down suburban streets
Reaching the playground with its
swings, bars, slides, beams.
But mostly, the girls I share them with.
Blushing over whispered secrets, forbidden questions.
"Where DO babies come from?"
Sleepovers: living room floors, scary movies, Truth or Dare.
Painting toenails, applying premature blush,
more glitter, more glitter, more glitter.
Dress-up in antiquated clothings from days of mothers youth.
High heels slipping from heels that fall inches from fitting.
Hugs and tears exchanged over silly nothings
at the time so huge.
I miss these days of close friendships,
vows so utopian in nature.
I have grown, ne'er to return to this stage of innocence.
It seems strange to mourn something so sweet.