I still feel like a child
like I need to be tucked in bed
Like I need to be reminded to brush my teeth
Not immature, just not mature yet

I still sleep with the light on
Still play with stuffed animals
And although there are signs that I am growing

The number of candles on the birthday cake

Growing out of that dress with gold hearts dotting the skirt

I don’t feel any older than I did yesterday
Before it was my birthday
before I’ve had any cake
before
     Isn’t that dress too small for you
before
     You’re all grown up now
The difference between
     You’ll understand when you’re older
and
     You should know that by now
     You’re not a child anymore
     A baby can cry but you’re not a baby anymore
     You’re too old for that now  
     They grow up so fast
Yes, and I didn’t even realize it

My voice is still high
My confidence is still small
And the world is so big, yet I can’t see myself in it

How can you say those words like you’re saying what you ate
this morning when really you picked at my entire day then threw away the rest of your plate and now I’m picking up the pieces of what you left
thinking it was paper but what really was glass

Please don’t dumb it down
Please don’t make it small
Please don’t shy away
Don’t walk away don’t say you’re making a big deal out of nothing  
I don’t know why but I want nothing more than to help you just please
Tell me what is hurting you
why can’t I pull it away?

I hang up my head with my coat
Throw down my sword worn through the continuing storm
Constant when nothing should be
Wind whips at my lips and ceases my words
Rain drip down my face and closes my eyes
I hold out my silence for peace
And silence comes until the next storm

The weight of a book
is the weight of thoughts
the author took
wrote and scratched onto that page
with as much care that you can write and scratch.

The author maybe wrote a story
but maybe not for you
maybe for that girl who sits against the wall with a computer on her lap
and a book hiding behind it

Maybe it was written for the kid who wanted adventure
so they made canopies of bedspreads and monsters out of darkness
and the author made an adventure for them

Maybe you walk into bookstores
like opening a memory album
walk the shelves like turning pages
book covers replace photos
words replace smiling faces

This is why you write
read
hold that book in your hand
not because the story is yours
but because it is a beautiful
memory store

In the morning I wake and there is sun
framing the curtains in light and
painting the walls pink
When I wake I'll hear dishes clanging and people walking around,
a house awake
wide awake.
On special days I'll enter the kitchen to the smell of comfort
to the band of trumpets on the stove
snap crackle pop
Sticky rice on my fingers and book in hand

Now when I wake the sun isn't up
The walls aren't pink and the house isn't awake
I hear crickets out my windows
the soft creak of my footsteps down
the hall down the stairs
I enter the kitchen and turn on the light
There's no food wafting comfort no
sticky goodness in a bowl
But there is quiet