i was on a phone call with zach,
and on the usual, we'd talk about young things,
school work, food, who kissed who,
you know, the dumb, young things.
but the tension grew as i changed the topic,
i asked about his life goal,
expecting him to say how he will be someone great - because he is young.
so i shutter when i tell him im starting to feel old.
feeling worn, like an oversized tee.
but young enough that i am still treated like stock brought in 2 seasons too early.
i try so hard to deny it but
maturity screams like a child.
There's something scary about being 15.
for starters, it is the age where its not
uncommon to kiss boys behind park benches,
or to become so intoxicated in assessments
that we start thinking the only way to swim is to sink.
Little girl, remember when you were 4
How every single thing felt like a chore
i remember those preschool days vividly,
always playing mums and dad, because i wanted
to be smart like the adults.
wearing costumes just like the adults.
i thought adults were courageous, friendly and strong
so when i grew up, asking questions about their land.
they shrugged, i thought :
don’t adults know everything?
and now, as i see more and more knowledge barge though my ear,
and as i see more and more children graduate,
and as i see the babies counting tax ,
and as i see the white turn grey.
i am silent.
growing up is the one lesson we were never equipped for.
but yet it is placed centre stage in this circle of life?
i sometimes don’t want to ask these questions because:
the old will tell me that i am young.
and the young will tell me i am old.
but its just foreign to me to think that
i wont be young forever.
because the avocado will mould and
the rose will wilt and
my report card will be forgotten.
what im trying to say is that eventually
this childish spark will be forgotten.
i remember asking my father what he wanted to be when he got older,
he told me, young.