All my friends are parents now,
Talking of toddlers, teething, and how
Their little ones laugh, cry, and grow,
While I still speak of my parents—though
I’m grown, or so I’m told,
But to me, I’m always their child, still bold.

They share stories of school drops and sports,
Of tantrums and bedtime, of funny reports.
I nod, smile, and keep the pace,
But when I speak, I’m still in that place—
Where I talk about mom’s cooking,
Dad’s advice, and the way they’re looking.

I’m the one who’s not yet in the game,
But somehow, it’s all the same—
I tell them about the way I’m loved,
Like I’m still tucked in, safe, and snug.
They've got kids who run wild and free,
But I just need my parents, you see.

And maybe it’s a little odd,
To still crave their warmth like a child’s nod.
But in their eyes, I’ll always be
That little one who seeks the key
To their soft voices, steady hands,
To the place where no grown-up stands.