june 11

sounds of children playing across the street. parked facing downhill. the sun has yet to burn off the smog and clouds but it will and I will sweat in my jeans and long sleeve tee. contemplate what it meant to be a child in the reckless mornings, the gridiron playground with evergreens serving as bars between us and the cruel harsh adulthood looming beyond the iron curtain. We will grow up with adderal in our hearts and never become tired for selfish reasoning. There are bones that cannot break, our fragile skulls, forgetting every crush on the playground, bone marrow, there are infinite children, good and bad, they will repress these memories and pass them off as silly childish games. I never grew out. I am still throwing rocks at trees by the creek. I am still searching for a reason for the laughter and why the world seems to stop spinning at the sight of an angel. Controversy and long flowing blonde hair. We realize we are immune to all of that potential. Go play. Learn what to touch and what not to touch. Hurt yourselves in ways that will teach rather than maim. Hard headed, knuckles against the floorboards. We feel good with this.