How am I supposed to act as if we didn’t punch 

Through screen doors with red popsicle remains 

Dripping down our chins? As if we didn’t lie 

Belly up in the crook of Lake Michigan,

Seeing how long we can stand the waves

Pounding us into the shore. As if we didn’t tiptoe 

Around the forest in the dead of night

To see stars that the world had hidden 

From us until now. Back to a time 

Where we wanted nothing more 

Than to expand. There was no sucking

In stomachs or straightening hair from 

Its natural spring. We begged our parents

To give us more space to take up,

So they gave us the world outside. 

Your dad used to tell us that visible ribs 

Showed lack of nourishment. Back then 

We saw ribs as containers for the magic

Swirling inside us. Now, ribs are merely 

A protector for whatever remains of our hearts,

Shrinking and expanding.