I am a woman now, but did not become so delicately. I was Not the pale pink bud that one day began to unfurl, and to Blossom. I was not the bewildered child trying on a trainer Bra and blushing in the privacy of a department store Change room. My androgyny did not melt as the ice-cube Liquefies, my sharpness becoming fluid under the hot gaze Of expectant and admiring observers. Instead of gradually Ripening, evolving, anticipating being plucked from the tree Like a ready fruit, I dropped early, fell headfirst and over-ripe Too early in the season. While that time was for others one Of crisp sheets and cool sea breezes, the salt soaked into Me, and a blood-red wave of confusion and cognisance Exploded me into maturity. My legs started to cross Themselves, and my hands to smooth the creases of the Clothes that barely contained me and my change. I was Sticky. Messily, obviously sensual. A mouth of smeared red Lipstick at thirteen.<br /><br />Mae Friend<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-it-happened/
