Growing Up Here (Means You Don't Wanna Grow Old Here)

I made a promise not to die here, drinking beer on railroad tracks before bottles stopped raining in the woods. I promised and it would have been a promise kept, but I was met with an antagonist who said,

“Look, you’re a pragmatist, and know you are here for good.”

I made a rule once I was too old to smoke pot in front of the high school, I would never reminisce, but I did and I do, threading an era through my fear of change.

Because it’s strange, watching meadows we played become perfectly placed duplexes, entire sections of a childhood built over. Where we laid beneath the stars counting solar systems and naming objects in the distance they built a mall, and doll, the night sky has adapted

but somehow,

horizons are colder.

I resolved once
that first kiss had come
and gone, the bond would be
worth all roads that led to it.

But I’m here
and it’s not

the red brick


dream I pegged it to be,

just hangovers of
the heart being weaned off
the bottle.


One thought on “Growing Up Here (Means You Don't Wanna Grow Old Here)

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