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as we Metamorphose
I once took my mother’s pearls
and wore them to kindergarten.
I wanted to look like an
Adult—
a word now bitter on my tongue.
In playgrounds, we believed
in monsters—
now we drink with them,
learn their masks,
mirror their smiles...
We say growing up means
ties with clips and red-bottom heels
when really
it's just learning—
to shed off sincerity,
so adulthood can
grow wings
threaded
with histories we never told.
In the shedding,
we never asked—
if the silk unraveling from our backs
meant we escaped—
or just overdressed
for the fall.
Copyright ©
Jasmine Tsai
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