i don't want to grow up
and lose the old me because
it would mean i will lose
the freedom of the youth

for the longest time
i thought i needed to
return to the child
i was.

i spent half my life
unlearning trauma,
only to lose sight
on the woman
i wanted to become.

I grew up here,
Not just in this city or this state,
But this house,
With my parents’ room down the hall,
The bathroom I used to share with my brother next door.
I grew up on this street,
Right next to the convenience store I used to buy candy from,
Racing to get back before my mom got home from work,
The same yard I’d wait in for my dad every night,
The same neighbors.
So much of this place is as it is in my memory,
How it was when I was just a little girl.
I asked my mother once,
When I was small,
If I could live with her forever,
Scared of strangers,
The idea of not making it home by the time the sun set.
The thought that I wouldn’t just be older,
But actually old,
Was paralyzing.
I’d be responsible for myself,
For my life,
For everything that happened to me.
I wish I had grown up slower.
I wish I still wanted to be here,
Now that I’m stuck here.
Most of all I wish I had become what I used to be so afraid of,
Someone who was responsible,
Someone who could take care of themselves.
I wish my parents hadn’t flown me home,
Fearing for my life and wincing at how skinny I’d gotten while I was away.
I wish they hadn’t realized the damage they taught me when I was young,
I wish they didn’t look at me with that guilt or shame or sadness,
Like they took something from me,
Like they broke me.
I wish they wouldn’t keep reminding me that no matter where I go,
What I do,
Who I meet,
I’ll always be that person I was when I was small,
Fearful and clumsy and irresponsible,
Waiting for someone to come home,
Waiting for someone to take care of me.
I miss when my fears were irrational,
So far into the future they were laughed off.
People used to think it was endearing that I thought about the future,
Now it’s just depressing.
Maybe I was right to be afraid.
Maybe I’ve always known what kind of person I’d turn into.
Maybe this will haunt me for the rest of my life,
Falling asleep in the room I grew up in,
With my parents down the hall,
The ghost of my brother lingering next door.
Is that sad?
Is it sweet?
I guess I’ll never know.

Opening my eyes I find myself in a raging current.

My body is thrashed against rocks cutting deep into my skin.

To the left I see I’m not alone…

My mom is with me.

Her body is submerged in the angry water but I see the bruises that cover her face.

I start to panic..

I have to save her.

Looking around I see a branch hanging over the water.

This is my chance..

grabbing my mom I tell her we’re going to leap for it.

She doesn’t listen.

She doesn’t even see me…

She’s too focused on her bruises and the pain they bring.

We miss the branch.

Anger rushes through my body.

Why won’t she let me save her!?

Why isn’t she trying?!

… again and again I’m thrown against the rocks cutting and bruising me all over.

Exhaustion fills my mom and she starts to drown.

Desperation sets in.

I must save her!!

Up ahead I see another opportunity of escape, a section of land that’s lower.

I decide I must throw her against it.

It’s impossible with this raging current but I am desperate.

As I get closer I go over to my mom, grabbing her I don’t even bother arguing I fight against the current and try to save her.

But the current is too strong, I am too weak, and we are pushed on.

My eyes begin to fill over with tears, my mind filling with the realization that I can’t save her.

That acceptance brings a surprising amount of freedom.

But I also can’t stand pain anymore

I must get out. I must breathe.

I search for one more escape.

I will not let another opportunity slip by.

I see another branch.

I give one last glance to my mommy and then I pull myself up and I’m on top, the water dripping from my body, the sun basking my skin warming it up.

My mom goes by, under and gone.

The tears run down my face.

Even as I crawl over to the dry ground they don’t stop it’s not until I lay on my back and feel the sun cover my face and the birds singing that they stop and I realize…

I am safe.

our first photo was taken
sometime in nineteen ninety-three.
two toddlers in nappies,
neighbours, before we had a word
for what we’d grow to be.

inseparable.

weekend mornings started
at six a.m. beneath blankets.
eyes heavy, pyjamas warm
with your brothers half-asleep,
watching cartoons in the dark –
argai, the lion prince
and some other world
that promised we’d never grow up.

half a life was spent
with football, martial arts,
scavenging, and video games.
but a universe opened between us
when you moved away –
only a few streets down,
where the brink of manhood
said, no girls allowed –
unless.

so i went on
carrying your absence.

years later, our parents
arranged a movie afternoon.
it was a hundred minutes of silence
and small flickers of a conversation
that mirrored who we used to be.
i thought, maybe.
i thought, still.

but the closure i sought
was a door shut in my face.
as if fifteen years
of childhood were a secret shame.

it still hurts
to dream you colder
than you already were,
and carry a reminder
that you don’t have a say
in when and how things end.

I remember climbing the grades as I watched time in 2X
My youth slipping though my fingers
And suddenly life is harder and you have urges to do bad things
And suddenly you’re not a kid
And suddenly I’ve learned to navigate the walls of my own mind
And now I’m not a kid
And my youth is gone