Disclaimer: Not Actually Secretly a Goat

the menzingers | hello exile

Tennyson St. by Stephersaur

Grow Up With Me by Keaton Henson

Grow up with me. 

Let’s run in fields and fear the dark together. Fall off swings, and burn special things, and both play outside in bad weather. 

 Let’s eat badly. Let’s watch adults drink wine and laugh at their idiocy. Let’s sit in the back of the car, making eye contact with strangers driving past, making them uncomfortable.

Not caring. Not swearing. Don’t fuck. 

Let’s both reclaim our superpowers; the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth. The ability not to fear social awkwardness. To panic when locked in the cellar; still sure there’s something down there. And while picking from pillows each feather, let’s both stay away from the edge of the bed, forcing us closer together. 

Let’s sit in public, with ice cream all over both our faces; sticking our tongues out at passers by. 

Let’s cry. Let’s swim. Let’s everything. 

Let’s not find it funny lest someone falls over. Classical music is boring. Poetry baffles us both; there’s nothing that’s said is what’s meant. Plays are long, tiresome, sullend, and filled; with hours that could be spent rolling down hills, and grazing our knees on cement. 

Let’s hear stories and both lose our innocence. Learn about parents and forgiveness, death and morality, kindness and art, thus losing both of our innocent hearts, but at least we won’t do it apart.

*camera switches to interview where dog barks and mounches on the reporter’s mic (who allows him do it)*