writing by ~me~: candyland

 

popsicles and front stoops, mid july, jean shorts frayed at the edges. we picked at the lose strings

we picked at the fabric of our lives and lies

summer between sixth and seventh grade and we talked about boys cause we thought we were straight

and katy perry kicked her high heeled boot at our faces. we were scared so we listened to her on the radio

we longed for something greater

freckles and pseudo tans. tampons and target bras

i am we are still trapped in that moment

heartbeats linking us together. trapped in shaking cages

piled on the back of a dusty ass pickup truck

driving us from girlhood to candyland.

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