And somewhere in between we grow up
There are clothes half my size still in my closet;
I no longer reach up to find my face in the mirror.
Suddenly decisions carry the weight of futures.
I never heard the bell that announced my adulthood.
Someone arrives and someone lets go.
Someone falls and someone rises.
I need to speak
but before the ink dries I lose my nerve.
I freeze, imagining my reluctance can stop the clock.
Outside the window winter has arrived
but I am still wearing a summer dress.
And somewhere in between, we grow up.
Somewhere between
waiting and dreaming, hoping and losing hope and regaining hope and mourning and grieving and
asking for help and pushing it away and
breaking my body and braiding it back together and
praying and cursing and winning a bit and losing a bit -
I grew up, but I did not notice.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 10:14 AM UTC
And somewhere in between we grow up
There are clothes half my size still in my closet;
I no longer reach up to find my face in the mirror.
Suddenly decisions carry the weight of futures.
I never heard the bell that announced my adulthood.
Someone arrives and someone lets go.
Someone falls and someone rises.
I need to speak
but before the ink dries I lose my nerve.
I freeze, imagining my reluctance can stop the clock.
Outside the window winter has arrived
but I am still wearing a summer dress.
And somewhere in between, we grow up.
Somewhere between
waiting and dreaming, hoping and losing hope and regaining hope and mourning and grieving and
asking for help and pushing it away and
breaking my body and braiding it back together and
praying and cursing and winning a bit and losing a bit -
I grew up, but I did not notice.
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