we were the kids that grew up in the mulch,
not the soil,
because our parents had heard it was better.
we passed our papers back in class,
seeing our names become slowly replaced by percentages.
97.
68.
we always gave our friends full credit
until our teachers found out.
the administration gave us erasers
and we rubbed away at our souls.
we lined up for cafeteria food
and stopped looking our parents in their eyes when they asked about our days.
we were the hyperactive boys and clever girls,
sentenced to lifetime insecurities
for insolence.
we were the covered bra straps and sagging pants
and unprofessional hairstyles,
we were the wrong answer
she had kissed me in
the dark on a roller coaster
and i remember it was sloppy
like a tsunami but i still found
myself remembering something:
experiences that don't flow into
words, they just float throughout
the cosmos and leave you scrambled
like some eggs in a breakfast
diner
and i just gotta say i love you