up for grabs:

one glorious adolescence

you’ll run along lamplit streets at 2am

drive up the coast with the windows down
and the breeze blowing through your hair will smell
of sea salt and blue horizons
you’ll smile at him and he’ll smile at you and
just like that let’s cut to
slightly faded shaky cam montages
of holding hands and turning to look at the camera
sneaking into places and running away
your hammering heart beating pop songs
as you laugh and breath in lungfuls of
not caring air

and you’ll wear his jacket
and look in record stores and secondhand bookshops and be
just quirky enough
you’ll stare at the clouds and relish the not knowing
feel that star-spangled indigo infinity deep within you
it will be mystical
and full of hope and you’ll realise
what it’s all about

you’ll have a trusty moleskin notebook
that you’ll pore over when it hurts
and the ink will drip from your wrists
and onto the page and it will
turn into poetry, art
something that is, something that matters
you’ll put your pen to paper
and know just how to articulate all the
thoughts that bleed and bloom and billow
and you’ll feel better, after

and if you call in the next five minutes
the whole 8 years will be
underscored by a tasteful indie rock soundtrack
probably featuring the smiths
at some point

conditions may include
exchanging
your body for a different beast entirely
say goodbye to
your little piece of the universe and
prepare yourself for an updated model
but warning:
you may begin to feel disconnected
from the blossoming blood
and bridge-like bones that have you have always called you
prepare to meet your Body with a capital B
a public commodity, an apologetic offering, the enemy

additional costs may include
that pink teddy bear of yours
whose every seam and hair and threadbare
patch you knew by heart,
the way your
honey-dimpled hands would hold tight
when there was a bump in the night
or a question mark hiding under
the bed

do not be afraid
if for a while everything
feels like a duvet that
can’t quite cover your feet
when your under the bed beast
looks you in the eye shakes
your hand and laughs
please be aware
that he might stick with you
for a while
be prepared
to sew yourself a new security blanket
of shed hairs and crumpled skins
but warning:
you might prick your fingers

disclaimer:
stepping into that
big wide world may feel less
like learning to fly
and more like missing a step in the dark
home will become a word with
a sting in its tail
and warm window lights on a rainy night
and the cinnamon comfort of Something In The Oven
won’t feel like yours anymore
warning:
that moment when the air felt like sunshine
and it was all there -everything- in front of you
will all too quickly be nothing more than a photo
and that photo will fade no matter
how tightly your
wishful fingers clutch it
turning black and blue
bruises may bloom and your
hands will ache and your heart will shake
with nostalgia and the sepia sigh
of forgotten smiles until
you can’t remember
what you were holding on to
in the first place

you’ll lose her in the pictures
that little girl of moon-soft cheeks
her heart pink and clean and unafraid
beating boldly
each thump an unquenchable question
of mermaids and toadstools and
the dew-drop dreams humming at
the bottom of the garden
she may turn to you,
for a moment,
her face half-captured in
the dusty gold of a
late summer evening
and whisper with the knowing
of a wiser age
“don’t forget to read the small print”