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The Push
By: Bucho

Like an admission
In the dark,
My sweat beads and stains
This shirt I kept
As a memento
When I said goodbye
To playgrounds in general.
The stink of puberty
Wafts from the sleeves,
Giving olfactory senses
A reminder of what uncomfortable means.

But do we ever really
(Get comfortable)
Because the ride from
Here on out
Makes us yearn for the days
Of slides and monkey bars,
Nap times and milk breaks.
When going outside the lines
Was standard,
Summertime was when
We got to be ourselves,
And confusion was the name
Of that three month period when
We realized why women
Scared us, forcing us to
Think, talk, and act differently
Towards them.

I kept this shirt as a memento,
Reminding me of why I said goodbye
To playgrounds in general
And reminding me of what
Uncomfortable means.

Blood spots give way
To memories of first nosebleeds,
Uncoordinated swings, and
Pride of bruised knuckles
From holding our own.
Salty spots show years of tears
Soaked up after pets passed on,
Broken bones and first dates
Gone horribly wrong,
Anxious to hold the hand of
Someone who may or may not
Feel the same.

This shirt holds such painfully
Good memories that it’s as
Hard to keep as it is
To get rid of.

Article Source: http://journal.ilovephilosophy.com

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