and endless feelings,
an ancient youth hoping to be saved.
Years of innocence and understanding,
broken by guilt and accusations.
Where are the simple times?
Where are the sleepovers and double dares of our past,
when Spin the bottle was a favourite pastime?
What happened to the boys who were satisfied with a slow dance?
When did we invite the lies and deception to the party?
Where are the boys who were too embarrassed to hold our hands?
I can tell you where they are!
Grown into mature young men
with a deep yearning for fornication.
Us, young mature women feeling sexual and sensuous,
allowing ourselves to participate in the violent act of love,
willingly and happily.
What would our kindergarten teacher say?
You know, the one who caught us in the sandbox trying to look down each others pants.
That’s where it all started,
impulse-ating and mutating us into these creatures.
These, these…. Teenagers.
We could look at it this way,
we’re only this age once, right?
So forget about your kindergarten teacher.
Go fornicate in the streets!
Forget lies and that girl in your class who would tell the whole school what you were doing in five minutes.
Sins are for those with a conscience,
a conscience is for those with a mind.
Forget your mind!
Hedonists of the world, practice your faith!
Live with us in our pleasure.
Drop the “my-dad-won’t-let-me, my-dad-would-kill-me” act.
But… then back comes the guilt,
and your mind returns and your conscience kicks in and you think
– well, I wouldn’t want the whole school to think that maybe one of us mature young women could be a little different.
So you stick with your poems or your paints or your music.
Saying ‘no’ does have its privileges, right?