perhaps i'm in the wrong era-
a slave bound within the lines of calendar squares.
i am chained down to a cowardly age of stomachs too afraid to carry butterflies and hearts that keep their pitter-patters on a leash.
an era of inhibition,
girls are hiding blushes and warmth in efforts to keep the cool.
all she wants is a romance that tugs on the corners of her lips - stretching grins.
she'd love to plead guilty to having hopes stacked as high as a pile of love poems.
but she won't because we don't. here.
an era of shoe-tied tongues,
boys smearing cold winds of bitterness on their faces-
preparing themselves for the guerrilla warfare between vulnerability and sanctioned apprehension.
fighting a war that doesn't exist. swinging at the air until contact is made ...
against embraces, truth, and hearts.
i'm playing hopscotch on a sidewalk full of landmines.
i'm swimming in a bittersweet sea of insincere saliva - men spitting and spitting and spitting "game".
but it's weak.
and if i never find eyes that cuddle in mine,
i will gather those counterfeit claims of love as a collection for someone else's daughter ...
in another hopeless era.