I'm 15, yet I don't feel 15. I'm mature for my age, they say, and I'd agree, but not in the cliche way that most teenagers feel. I'm in no rush to grow up. I don't need to dress 18 and act 21 to feel like I belong in an ever changing society. I don't need to rush off with immature, thoughtless boys and drink alcohol until my mind goes numb and my vision blurs. I don't need to smoke my youth away.
I'm 15, yet I don't feel 15. I have the heart and imagination of a child, but the mind of an adult. I'm stuck in the confines of my age, yet still climbing the ladders to reach the mark of a teenager.
I'm 15, yet I don't feel 15. I'm stuck in the paradoxical age where people expect so little yet so much. I'm expected to balance more heaping plates than the best circus freak, while being told I'm growing too fast. I'm given more heaping plates by the same people who tell me to be a kid. I'm being asked about my future, then laughed at for "my childish dreams." I'm expected to make decisions while being told I'll change my mind.
I'm 15, and I don't want to be 15. Not because I want more responsibility or to do "adult things" that are for some reason labeled "cool," but because I'm tired of being told to dream, and then being told my dreams can never come true. Because I want to escape the confines a single number places me in. Because I want to be taken seriously.