When I was young,
I would play with numbers more than the toys in my trunk.
I would talk about science like it was the language if love.
I would play in the dirt as if I knew I belonged there.
When I was young, I had a sense of wonder.

When I got older,
I left the numbers on the pages of my algebra textbook.
I broke up with science and gravitated more towards English and poetry classes
I stopped playing in the dirt and began yerning to live underneath it.
When I got older, I wanted to **** myself.

When I get to where I'm going,
The boys who dismissed me all those years ago will ask for my hand.
My poetry will lay upon the pages of text books.
Maybe I won't want to **** myself.

But that's part of getting older, isn't it?
Moving on from things that made your heart sing?
Is this what it means to be an adult?
I envy younger versions of myself.
They all had this way about them that would draw people to them.
But I guess I lost my charm while I was breaking my own bones.

Maybe one day I'll get to where I want to be.