we are sixteen years old; we drink smooth vodka and smoke marijuana in rooms filled with incense and candlelight. we light cigarettes with cupped hands, holding experience in our palms. we fill our lungs with poison, swallowing numbered capsules, singing under our breath. we are sixteen years old; we cough when we laugh, we cry when we speak. in our memories, records crackle under the din of truth. we buy affection. margaritas in tin bottles, plastic bags in tattered sleeves, and bitter shots of smuggled bourbon are the expectations of our reality. we are sixteen years old; our secrets slip away under a sea of rebellion. we test tolerances and boundaries. on rainy nights, we lie under the stars with no words because we cannot speak. for fear of exposing ourselves. we jump at the echo of footsteps on carpet. we are sixteen years old; we believe our own invincibility until we fall. we blow smoke through our noses and wash the burn away with bitter drinks from stolen glass bottles. we make promises with bated breath and whisper sheltered names. we work to support habits and slip cash from hand to hand. we are sixteen years old; we weren’t meant to live this way. we are children in complex disguise. we know the underground of the city, the lines of our own palms, the crimes we commit easy as a breath in summer. we are not invincible but we believe that we are. we are not wrong, but nothing’s ever right. we are sixteen years old; and we do not know how to be.”