Young Adult 

Children

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 

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