Was I once
thirteen
lurching toward
teen years
when the
absolute worst thing
in the world was
to look
different, when
you weren’t
sure whether to
hate or love
girls, when
beauty was truly
skin deep, a
momentary touch
until the
appearance
of the next
pimple,
emotional
outbursts as hormones
raged and
exploded,
and our teachers
surveyed
the mass carnage
of youth,
deciding daily
that Epicurus
was wrong and
the Stoics
were right.
Photograph by Lisa Runnels via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
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