It was a hot summer day,
blistering
hot.
The boys
whipped off their shirts.
I wanted to,
too.
I wanted that
taste of freedom.
I wanted that
airy feeling.
And so I
whipped mine off too.
It didn’t
last,
and it didn’t
taste like freedom.
My sister
took me aside.
“You should
put your shirt back on.”
I already
knew.
Of course, I
knew
but it wasn't
fair.
I was as
flat-chested as any boy with us.
So why?
Why did I
have to put
my shirt back on?
No comments:
Post a Comment