Member Poem

i asked my mother once
through sun bleached and sea salted hair
while the heat hung lazily in the air
why it is that grownups sit and talk and laugh for fun

she said, “this is how the big kids play.”

and play we do
flirting and hurting
and screaming and running through fields
that have long since been established as our stomping grounds

dressing up as monsters so much bigger and more  significant than ourselves
aggressively justifying a generational lack
of peripheral vision
holding the whole weight of the universe on our skinny shoulders
teaching each other pointless, desperately vital things
through poisoned laughter
unaware of the bliss of a soul yet ungrown
kissing and killing
all tasting of the same blinding neon
making love in every single possible sense of the word
drawing and redrawing lines until they are all
completely blurred beyond recognition

my god
how much you’ve grown

it is felt at thirteen
when your ribs vibrate with the power coming from your heart

pumping blood around a body that is permanently changing
and growing
and stubborn feet planted into the ground.

mud can be war paint,
if you want it to be.

it is present at sixteen
in the formulation of a well practiced and crafted coffee order
the bitterness no longer an unpleasant taste, rather a way to fill the space left behind by yet another sleepless night

it is smiling at you
on your seventeenth birthday
when you look down and notice the dirt under your fingernails for the first time

it is here at twenty
stroking my hair as i reclaim my skin as my own
making it mine again
taking it back from a stranger who thought they were allowed to move in.

and so it begins
a ceremony of black and white
every previous version of myself in attendance
a casket decorated in hearts and swear words
and anything else that meant we were leaving our mark

a casket
always just the right size
is lifted up
and the whole world
takes a breath