Growing Pain
by Ebony Isis Booth
sometimes we celebrate being grown prematurely
as if grown is a condition
or disposition which
causes congratulation for the false ability,
or wishful
thinking,
“I can do whatever the fuck I want”
phase.
where the consequence for ice cream and cold pizza
for breakfast is still a stomach ache
only now, you have a gaseous board meeting to stay awake
through and no nurses office to be excused to
you have never gone number two at your new-new boyfriend’s
place
but lactose intolerant hangover symptoms following
your poor dietary decisions assure you,
tonight will be a first for both of you.
cause you’re grown.
you do what the fuck you want.
forgetting the tiny lessons and chiding fingers met
with rolled eyes and sucked teeth
you ignored some valuable life hacks way back
when the consequence for your disobedience wasn’t
life or death
when kisses on boo boos and answered sobbing phone calls
were tourniquets for your hard ass head
teaching you to stay alive is hard work when you seem to be
so set on dying
but you’re grown
you do what the fuck you want.
grown ass woman with kids and lovers in swallowed in the
undertow
only rest here in repose long enough for a fresh bandage
and a familiar meal
here to asses the damage and plan your next move
AWOL from the platoon
you do
whatever
the fuck
you
want
to
do.
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