Three Teenagers

One, counting money he 
knows the sum of already. 
The other brandishing his 
middle finger to the world 
as if it makes him a hoodlum. 
And the last has a cell phone 
pressed up against his ear with 
no one on the other line, 
trying to mimic the drug dealers 
he looks up to.

Eight years ago this was us - 
prepping for our mugshots. 
Believing clothes and sneaks 
were enough to cover up our flaws.

We were lost souls trying to 
find our identity in rap songs 
and police sirens. 
Hoping one day the girls 
would see in us and not through us.

But one day you grow older and 
realize that those days make 
waking up today, ten times better.