What's The Rush?
- Grace Davies - poetry
- Jul 2, 2024
- 1 min read
What’s the Rush?
Drawn on war masks, talons painted trollop red,
lost in the forest of childhood and hormones,
phones as shields, determined to grow up,
More magazine hidden under covers.
Lost in the forest of childhood and hormones,
teens trowelling on foundation,
More magazine hidden under covers,
teens towelling off metaphors for menstruation.
Teens trowelling on foundation,
inhaling the smell of sweet cheap cider, whilst
towelling off metaphors for menstruation,
absorbing the taste of cherry lip-gloss and cinema popcorn.
The smell of sweet cheap cider,
tongues exploring, tongues exploding,
the taste of cherry lip-gloss and cinema popcorn,
the crash of bowling balls into skittles.
Tongues exploring, tongues exploding,
desperate to find themselves, determined to grow up,
amongst the crash of bowling balls and skittles, it’s
like there’s something good about being closer to death.
Desperate to find themselves, determined to grow up,
phones as shields, determined to grow up,
like there's something good about being closer to death,
wearing war masks, with talons painted trollop red.
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