We were minds of timid curiosity
Touching, prodding, slowly patting
If it bites, jump back but it’s okay if it doesn’t
Overly imaginative, a little crazy and very stupid
But I guess it’s all the same
It was celebrated
Or met with a slap on the wrist
To cause a bruise that healed too fast.
We hated the grown ups because they never understood
we were too ambitious to become them.
Because we thought we could do them better
Now, here we are
And we have no idea what to do with ourselves
Every touch is a vibration into our hearts, into our minds, into our loins
So we don’t touch anything anymore
We understand them now and we hate them still
Because they were right
And we hate ourselves first
We were going to grow up to touch the ceiling
Better yet the sky
And we learned we much prefer the ground.
Some of us crawl under tables to hide
We stand under dimly lit lamps looking to love from across the street
We sit in dusty rooms watching the sand fly out of each other’s mouths
And waiting for it all to settle
Some of us lie in boxes having ran out of time.
We will probably meet chaos
Attempt to kill him and fix the world
But first, we’ll spit on vanity
Celebrate the beautiful and attempt to stick ourselves to it
We’ll try poking and patting again but it won’t be celebrated
The bite will just be a danger we should have anticipated.
Photograph By Abrish Hailemariam