Change happens, btw—
Squads of girls in my school are already reveling in it,
gaggles of gigglers, enthusiastic whisperers:
lip-glossers, hair-tossers, short-shorters,
personal-product carriers.
Bra straps peeking from loose blouses
are eliciting ill-at-ease eyeballs.
Change happens, lol—
Rodeos of boys have begun dropping their voices
like cowboy poets roving crowded hallways:
Growth-spurters, arm-grapplers, loud-laughers,
endless-appetiters.
Barely-mustachers wearing locker-room deodorant
keep tripping over their own big sneakers.
Change happens, ngl—
Now my body is werewolfing without permission,
full-mooning me into some acne-browed stranger:
mood-changer, friendship-shifter, gender-noticer,
secret-keeper.
Feels like I’m morphing into that quirky peripheral character
inhabiting every middle school novel.
