Sixteen, Motherfucker

By Sherice Kong


After Lee Matalone


We rush to Donna’s Ice Cream after school, our sacred afternoon hangout, we rush to take out our first paycheck’s worth of money and pay for each other, sticking bills inside the waffle cones and crushing them on the countertop, we rush to finish our ice cream inside Maya’s car that her rich parents purchased for her sixteenth birthday last June, pearls of cream sticking to the black leather like cum stains, we rush through traffic lights and piss off the people trying to turn left, we rush to get home before nine so our parents won’t be angry at us for staying out too late, we rush to finish our homework, and we wonder what’s the use of linearization, nothing’s ever straight or clear, we don’t even care about calculus anyways, but we rush to school the next morning to kiss in the stairwells, Vivian has her hands underneath my shirt, I’m wearing the bra I bought at Victoria’s Secret two sizes too small so it would make my boobs look rounder, we rush to first period physics where our heads are so hazy from all the kissing that we drop the force sensors on the floor, we rush to flick the sensors’ hooks into each other’s mouths, roping out our lips until we kiss again, thinking about all the boys we hate, we rush to NYC on Saturdays after Chinese school and continuously post pictures of the skyscrapers to our stories, swiping and swiping and swiping until we dizzy ourselves on brownstone windows and etch ourselves into bakery smoke, we rush to post photos and comment bad bitch love this god marry me underneath each others’ pictures, we rush to fuck each other when our parents aren’t home, hands shaking when we undress each other, hands shaking when we tear off the condom wrapper, we rush to finish fast until it’s awkward sitting on his bed while the room smells like sweat and sex, we rush to open the windows, careful not to fall out because we heard what happened to Michelle last winter, we rush to the abandoned lot and dare each other to climb the chain link fence, we rush to taste the rust from our fingers, licking and relishing in what is a brutal manifestation of our blood, so we think, we rush to move away from our parents because we think they’re all wrong, we rush and we rush and we rush to grow up but it turns out we’ve washed our youth away, goodbye, this is who we are now, we stopped rushing but it’s all just awful from here on out.



Sherice Kong is a 16-year-old writer from New Jersey, and her work is published or forthcoming in Superfroot Mag, Sledgehammer Lit, GASHER Journal, and other lovely places.


Image by Sherice Kong.