Im not a child
But I walk around with my eyes wide open
Surprised by the little new things I learn
And traumatized
By the scary ones
Like the three toddler steps forward
Holding on tight to the hand that gave it life
Never letting go
I'm not a child
but I listen out for my mothers voice
and crave the basic things
Like love and protection, safety and locked doors
Maybe a kiss on the forehead once in a while
I have tantrums in my bedroom
And cry puddles and puddles of tears
In moments of frustration
No, I'm not a child
but I look to everyone else for guidance
Directions; maybe even real specific ones
Marked with a red sharpee on my bedroom wall
So that I always know when I wake up
how and where and when
To turn on this journey
No im not a child
But I feel primitive and undeveloped
Fetal like
Overwhelmed and confused by the bright lights
And bright colors plastered onto the universe
All the time
No, Im not a child
Not in the way my long hair falls past my round *******
Nor by the anxious crinkles on my forehead
Not by the way I smeared on red lipstick for the club
Or reached for the suit on interview day
I'm not a child
Not by the existential quandaries
Or the words I type anxiously on my keyboard
Not in the way I check my bank account each day
Before I check out at the grocery
Or by the way I flaunt my independence
And preach about dismantling the patriarchy
No I'm not a child
Not in the way I look or act or seem
But I have a secret to share
And its been masked by shame and illusion
I still feel like a child
And really I don’t know
If that will ever change
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 1:50 AM UTC
Im not a child
But I walk around with my eyes wide open
Surprised by the little new things I learn
And traumatized
By the scary ones
Like the three toddler steps forward
Holding on tight to the hand that gave it life
Never letting go
I'm not a child
but I listen out for my mothers voice
and crave the basic things
Like love and protection, safety and locked doors
Maybe a kiss on the forehead once in a while
I have tantrums in my bedroom
And cry puddles and puddles of tears
In moments of frustration
No, I'm not a child
but I look to everyone else for guidance
Directions; maybe even real specific ones
Marked with a red sharpee on my bedroom wall
So that I always know when I wake up
how and where and when
To turn on this journey
No im not a child
But I feel primitive and undeveloped
Fetal like
Overwhelmed and confused by the bright lights
And bright colors plastered onto the universe
All the time
No, Im not a child
Not in the way my long hair falls past my round *******
Nor by the anxious crinkles on my forehead
Not by the way I smeared on red lipstick for the club
Or reached for the suit on interview day
I'm not a child
Not by the existential quandaries
Or the words I type anxiously on my keyboard
Not in the way I check my bank account each day
Before I check out at the grocery
Or by the way I flaunt my independence
And preach about dismantling the patriarchy
No I'm not a child
Not in the way I look or act or seem
But I have a secret to share
And its been masked by shame and illusion
I still feel like a child
And really I don’t know
If that will ever change