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Silly Girls

 

Not quite twenty-four

 

in Waterloo Station.

Hot tears dropping

into cold pea soup.

 

Holding a best friend’s hand

on a night bus

chapped fingers snagging

her small, smooth palm.

 

Wheeling a bike along a pavement

in winter

looking at lights

in other people’s windows;

shops so bright

they hurt tired eyes.

 

Writing love letters

on Facebook Messenger.

How many pink-heart emojis

does it take to feel

safe?

 

Silly girls,

of course it hurts.

 

You

who once were paper

are now growing bones.