On Maturing





On Maturing


the wardrobe insists
that it’s 1996 &
the audience accepts this

I am cusping,
anger combusting
& my wrath
drains crimson

down the bath,
the walls are
coated,

in dream scrawl

my head rings


imploded


this is the next season of life
& it’s just as lonely
as the last one,
but this time
there are less
people around

& sounds
slip inside
one of my
many

neural openings,
disrupting my

able pathway

& what is this


growing up


anyway?


moonlight curses
me with memories
I question

because creativity

both hexed & blessed me


the old ladies

once told me

womanhood was a gift
& so I lived

in fear of it
destroying me

faulted for being female,
both exalted, damaged & frail

but laughing
ever awkwardly

at endless sexist vulgarity

to stay safe

& biting

brittle nails

to avoid needing

to run or escape


No more!

everything changes
at its own pace


I can no longer deny who I was made,
or the harshness of this day & age

I can tear

or turn

the page



Published by Jennifer Patino

Poet.