90’s Girl

The clock is counting time backwards again. My life hasn’t moved forward in so long that I feel like I’m stuck inside some sort of 90’s one hit wonder mix tape . I’m caught up inside the player, trying desperately to not be torn or bent in a way that I will not be of any use to society again. But if I can’t unravel myself out of this mess I’ve got myself into then I will continue to go backward on this candied apple carnival ride. I walk through the park and memories suddenly flood my mind as I smell a salt infused breeze mixed with cherry cola and boiled nuts. It makes me feel somewhat alive again. I’m 16 and indestructible. I can feel the aroma as it penetrates it concessions through out every inch of my once fit beach bronzed body. I am free from the prison of adulthood. I am a gangster, living life in SoHo. I have brass knuckles and balls as big and as bad as Billy Bob Thorntons in Dirty Santa. I avenge anyone that keeps me from fighting against my inner rebel yell self. There I am driving my red match box convertible. I am sitting on top of the world guzzling down fruit flavored spring water from glass bottles by day and Boone’s Farm at night. I roll myself up in Bob Marley fashion and tuck stuffed metal pipes in my pants pocket, along side powdery baby jars tucked discreetly in my straw carry on. I never missed a beat and had no care in the world. I was a wreck-less wild child wonder full of missed birth control pills and camel wides smoke filled lungs. A girl trying to find her way draped in flannel in a world that still hadn’t been altered by the web and cell phones. It was the decade of the 90’s and I had nothing but youth on my side. Those were the days.