Organs of Adulthood

By Georgia Bowan

I dont know many things about being an adult, I’m new and fresh, only now engaging in the lifestyle. As a kid, I thought there would be cavities in my teeth, freedom in my system, and blood in my shorts, but it doesn’t feel like that now.

I dont like how it feels now.

Those around me are cradled by naked bodies, lips on the crook of their necks, other people’s fingers in their mouths. They like adulthood, it tastes like skin and warmth.

But not me, I sleep alone.

That boy I think of, he sleeps alone, or last I checked. But what do I know? Maybe he is bucking his hips, clenching his jaw, and steadying his breaths in someone else’s bed. All these images, these things, they’re disgusting to a kid. Kids shouldn’t have to think about such adult things.

Still, as he gets older, that boy will forget about me.

He will be fucked, fucked over and disappointed. He will grow rich in knowledge and meaning, and I will end up in a stranger’s bed. I’ve done it before, didn’t care for it much.

But I know I’ll eventually do it again.

A part of me secretly hopes that this boy still wants to keep me in a jar under his bed. I pray he wants to talk to me, sleep with me and rest near me, keep me safe and unharmed. Another part of me, the tougher and more rational part, knows that he only thinks with his groin and his brain, but not his heart.

I don’t mean anything to those organs and I never will.