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

This line.

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.