Growing Pains

By Izzy Braico

you’ll ignore the parts of me

that are too realistic,

and protest the dollar

with homemade picket signs

and hold onto those foolish

anarchist cries

that chuckle like wind chimes in 

your ears.

you’ll let the sound of my voice

disappear

as the north wind threatens 

to carry you home– 

you’ll go willingly, 

it doesn’t matter with whom, 

so long as you don’t go alone.