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.
-
Author:
robin jayne (
Offline) - Published: October 25th, 2021 15:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
Great memories recalled are never lost.... they bring us smiles from our youth, joy that we are what we were only older, bigger, more subdued.
I really enjoyed this vibrant piece
I had those awkward tan lines from whole summers at the river... the only part of me that wasn't bronze was a line where my beads hung on my chest! I almost missed what you meant by red solos... those weren't around when I was a kid. And we had no sunroof... it was the back of a pick-up for us! Compelling whine, RJ!
and like fine Wine
your words, dance
on the tips of our poetic taste buds
seeping, ever-deep
and nudging, awake
those blind corners, of our blunted awareness...
(what a wonderful talent
you've been blessed with;
I feel privileged to read your wonderful poetry,
thank you! for choosing to share
dear Poet)
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