It’s difficult to be sweet 16 “never been kissed.” The worn hallways of high school remember the middle school years of braces, thick glasses and bookworm behavior. Short bouncy haircuts and contact lenses can’t erase history. Perky cheerleaders pair with golden boys. The long-haired kids ditch class, sit on the grassy hillside, and smoke. Somewhere in the middle, you slide from class to class. Invisible.
In autumn, roots grow
strong while foliage sleeps; fields
full of poppies glow.
Prompts: We Write Poems for a poem that sends wisdom to your 16 year old self.