rookie

i’m sorry i
laughed when you told me you loved me
(i can’t believe i started a poem with an apology—
how very anti-feminist of me.)
it’s just that i want fireworks and
you’re starving for dynamite
and i’m simply too much child right now
to commit to exploding.

even though i have good etiquette and
i can pull off scarlet lipstick and
i spend copious amounts of time convincing myself
i’m close to grown,
i’ve taken a litmus test of my sentiments
and it turns out that
i long for a cherry bomb kind of euphoria,
the thrill,
that comes from seeing someone with wider eyes.
i want to be graceless with him
because
is it really falling in love if one party knows what they’re doing?

i’ve only just begun blooming and
i’ve come to terms with the truth.
i’m not ready to compromise.
i don’t think i ever will be.

By Elena R., 17, New York