The Sophmore

Sophmoric, this attempt at adulthood. Too long have you been at the entrance, too short a length to take a baby step. Not wanting for a return to that hard time of la' enfant. Blubbering and stumbling into this country's social graces, a trained chimp wrapped and ready for show time at the circus. I am here. Traveling around the edges of womanhood. Keeping the hand holding at a distance, yet in view. I tight-rope walk this sex. My gender is waiting for me to take my place (#856849). Keep waiting, for my time has not yet come. I will ripen, inevitably, like an orange in the sun. The green running from my skin with each slow sea change. My insides softening, sweetening, preparing to be that soft place in my self I have searched for so long in others. My scent wafting in the summer scorching air sending the alert to the rest. I am ready for a hand, a grasp, a touch.