Summer Days


The days are getting longer
The shorts are getting shorter
The taste of freedom on my tongue
Like lemon

The taste of summer
That warms your bones
And freckles your cheeks
Scraped knees
The sound of chalk against cement
Surrounds you
Like a hand meant to be held

These longer days
These shorter shorts
They’re signs
Of self-determination
Of throwing away the rulers that measure our skirts
Of tearing up the homework that stresses out minds
And starves us of creativity

My shoulders are not a distraction
But the boy holding a gun to my head is
We fear not education
But the lack-thereof that fills the seats of democracy

Our hands are held to the sun
In an act of self preservation
And fear
For our generation

Straining our voices
But they’re backs are turned
And our words don’t reach them
We are the lost hope
The age of renegade

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