When I was twelve I lived for the drive
Doing what I could to pump my blood
Finding things to do for a rush
Getting into trouble to speed up the beat of my heart

When I was twelve I lived for the times I’d spend with my partners in crime
Trespassing through the orchards and snatching the brightest apples
Taking out dirt bike for joyrides without asking, but instead telling so there would be no time to say no
And only showing weakness when we’d stuff our faces crying ourselves to sleep like babies after selling our animals to butchers at the county fair

When I was twelve I lived for the weekend mornings when I’d wake up no later than eight
Staggering to the kitchen for breakfast where I would devour whatever was made
Then as soon as I was excused I’d approach my grandpa working on his Pontiac Catalina
Content with the simplicity of handing him the tools he asked for by name

When I was twelve I lived for the moments at night when I’d be alone
Sneaking out of my window to lay on my grandpa’s Volkswagen van
Wondering about anything and everything as I stared up at the stars that clustered the night sky
Trapped in a trance so strong that I would dread the moment when I’d have to peel myself away