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Overgrown Adolescents of the Early 2020s
May 31, 2023
The friday air
In our bubble of
faux academia
Here on the wrong side of the Charles
Is fresh
Not in a refined metropolitan way
But in a primal sense
Verging on feral
We prepare for our weekly ceremony
Where we will
Do the exact things that killed our ancestors
And we laugh
And sing.
In between the cracks,
The boys will relax
And the girls will cry
In memory of these exploits
That broke our mothers.
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I wrote this a few months ago at the end of my first year of college. Adjusting to independent life can be difficult. At eighteen, technically you're an adult, but the child within you is still very present. In this poem I express awareness of the culture I am being socialized around. I think a lot of people my age might have similar experiences--people of other ages too. In a sense, it's a rite of passage that everyone who was once an adolescent has undergone.