I was a Nutter-Butter, chubby cheeked girl
who always played the boy in pretend
I grew in pink-skirted, princess crowned swingsets
I wanted to be a singer
until Mia Millonzi told me to stop because I was too loud

I was eight years old;
the world "sensational" was bigger than me
and every friend I had then
is not a friend now

My hair dried like a ribcage
where my little heart pumped ice cream cone,
rollerskate skid, chalk sidewalk through each
breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, and hold it
Don't grow up yet

Time flies whether fun is playing hooky or not;
the years are like hide and go seek
and you're standing in the open spaces, gap-toothed faces
Light-up sneakers to liquor sleepers
sleeping with everything they're telling you not to
But they're so warm,
like a mother's kiss on the forehead
but, not at all, really

I often ponder about
What Nutter-Butter, chubby cheek,
ribcage hair, sing-too-loud Sara would think of herself now
Would she be proud?
Would yours be proud too?