Poetry Blogs (2020, adolesence)

these golden years

seem more to be rustic

I’m a teenager

so where are the parties?

where are the long nights and adventures?

at the very least, where is the happiness?

if these are the golden years,

mine need some polishing

because they’ve lost their shine.

,

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A colouring book becomes Facebook.
A tweet isn’t the sound from a bird.
Mobile devices hold us hostage
to high definition
when ambitions are blurred.
Light up trainers become stilettos
that shush insecurities
and tightly crush toes
,flashing in the strobe lights
of newly found adventure,
that makes us drunk on
possibilities and hope.
But dazzled by choice,
dazed by possibility,
we be...

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These were our halcyon
days. We would target
buses with crab apples and
B.B's. The late nights
amalgamated, blurred by
missions that drew us to
other towns, kept us set
apart. Our own little
worlds full of mischief and
girls. Drifting in symbiosis.

Now, instead of buses
you target blue veins.
Me, I'm still drifting.

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