Fourteen can’t decide if it wants to hug mama
or have its hair braided
or howl at the moon
In a teary blink of an eye
Fourteen switches gears from I hate your guts
I’m scared mommy hold me
then seven seconds later
God! Leave me alone!
Fourteen has a mind of its own and a colorful vocabulary
when a mind needs to be made up
then its word arsenal shrinks to
I DON’T KNOW
snarled through snake lips on a face molded into derision and scorn and two minutes later it grows to
God, Mom. Don’t you know anything?
Fourteen wants to be considered. Respected.
without considering or respecting or hearing
Fourteen is an appetite with an attitude
and a mysterious force
it can stay as long as it likes.
I’m not ready for fifteen.