Girls in yellow and baby blue skirts
pushed me into my right mind.
Their legs shone with vulgarity.
I felt like tumbling in the rock patches
and gathering flower buds to create
a bouquet of expectations; freshly
packed lunches exploded into the
attention starved faces we can
only try so hard to ever meet.
I am so much closer to my
micro-nirvana of the triumphant
year, and I can see it illuminating
in every word that fills my cheekbones.
Pear-shaped women at the bus stop
warn me of the danger in not having any plan.
One of them has known me since
I used to sniffle into my lonely hands.
She's watched me grow right before her big, brown eyes.
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