teenagers, finally by Mia Nelson

tonight we crush the corpses of keystone lights with our bare hands
not feeling or not caring about the metal edge cutting for blood
because this is the night of dancing so closely
the baby-soft hair of drunk girls gets stuck in my teeth
and my eyes water with the smoke curling its skinny wrists towards the
sky, which is so dark I can feel in me the circular motion of our
so young bodies hurtling towards the crowded dorm rooms of
yellowing posters and scream singing and the heaving joy of red cups
lined up perfectly. tonight is the night of feeling a stranger’s hand clasp
my hip, of watching Annika’s confused laugh tumble out of her as
a boy we don’t know kisses the softest depth of her neck in the
broken heels part of the evening where we are both open handed and so loud
chewing bubble gum and begging for a hit, please, of a stranger’s e-cigarete
while two girls take their time messily applying silver gloss in the bathroom.
we are walking back and forth seeing our breath smear the night air,
which is cold like a knife edge licked because it is covered in cake batter.
we are like everyone else in ten layers of foundation
and hot pink push-up bras with our obvious, insulting want. of course
the only kind of sweetness we like is that which comes with the threat
of cutting our tongues. wine gushes out of her nose as Annika laughs,
tipsily making a joke about her mother’s sobriety. earlier, she put on my make-up
and told me that tonight is the night of not-feeling so bad for ourselves,

but the song stuck in my head is the one about back car seats and the night so long
ago where we curled together in the same bed and fell asleep telling the story
of our future lives, how we would one day find ourselves in the kind of basement light
that would finally make us beautiful. Yes, my oldest friend, Yes,
we are so beautiful, we are almost invisible.