Crossing the Line
When did dolls and twists
Turn into relaxers and lipstick loaded lips?
Alone in the dollhouse
Longing to laugh and tickle and play
I hear the sounds of dolls dropping
And scoffers seem to say:
“Aren’t you a little old to play these games?”
They are at the border of the castle and moat
Crossing the hot lava into adult land
And no ones told how to go
I see it right in front of me, getting closer and
Closer to my dream house and crayons.
Beyond it are all my friends
At least that’s what I thought they were
With lumps on the fronts of their chests
And secrets between their thighs
They have kids of their own
As their childhood dies
And men with kind, unfamiliar eyes
Take all my friends away…
I don’t know how to join them
It’s been sixteen years since that day.
And even though the line is closer than a dream
Somehow I’ve never been able to cross it
Somehow, even with a shaved head
Adult makeup, new cars and high heels
I still wake up with two strand twists
Fairy tales in my eyes
And a naïve heart that longs to be longer for
Ever the later bloomer am I.