robin jayne

whine

freedom is pure and utter bliss

the scent of summer and vanilla bean ice cream

cannabis at low tide and lush blooms perfume

and we were just kids

 

oh, but we were only kids

shit happens

broken condom wrappers and red solos

awkward tan lines and suspicious bruises

connect-the-dots freckles under red eyes

 

summer would never remain the same

to be only kids

hanging-out-the-sunroof-on-the-highway-doing-105 type of beat

empty spray paint cans and abandoned factories.

victories.

 

screaming at the top of our withering lungs

to an intangible voice

hoping, waiting, only to hear nothing in return

confirming our childhoods were over

and freedom came with a price

 

we were just kids.