New.
On that blazing summer streetYou gave me the gift, the heat,The buckled legs underneath me The screaming sun above me,Ecstatic blunted by background worries,I think I'm numbed a bit,Swirling bitter snowstorm flurries,But I smile through.That's how you're supposed to react, right?I don't know what to do,I've never been here beforeThough this pavement I've walked through,Streets , veins on my tanned handI wonder if you were plotting this,If it was planned,Your gift was casually wrapped,The constant concealed coercion-When did we give up emersion For feigning games? I play along though,That's how it's supposed to go,I clutch onto her sweaty back,Trying not to think of my dragging backpack,It's full of my belongings-Books of insults,Awkward silences,Bottle filled with confused tears,It's still cold and full of saltAfter all these years. Do you have one too? I can't imagine your backpack to be anything but new,Expensive, like you,And light as feather fluffed hair, So I can smile when it's done. When every box is checked,When the earth hasn't collided with the sun,When I'm settled, When everything is right. God knows it's my nature to not revel in tonight. God knows that street now will be marked by our laughs, We're teenagers, right? But two years into the the future,Who knows which ailment will cause my daily fight? Will you be there, probably not, So what's the point?I can't see it, soI can't smile. I'll greet you with that face when my throat doesn't fill with bile At the mention Of new.