Updated: Jul 12, 2019
I was seventeen and still a virgin, enjoying the taste of rum mom purchased for a cake she was making. Yes, I drank the rum that morning on the way to the bus stop. To my surprise, mom made it to the bus stop at the same time as me. I was wrong on every level.
Afraid because I’m not sure.
Afraid because it may not be pure.
Afraid to let it be.
Afraid of being me.
Afraid of the day I’ll have to listen to mom
and what she has to say.
Afraid my skin will peel.
Showing what I feel.
Sinking because I’m so afraid.
Afraid to give anything a chance.
Afraid of romance.
As I drink from my cup,
I’m afraid to think of growing up.
Maybe my braid is tied too tight.
Or, maybe I’m just plain old afraid.