i am growing up
i do not like it but yet
i am growing up

I miss myself.
Not me now,
but before.

Before I grew older,
and learned awful things.
Before I stopped wearing sundresses,
and pigtails in my hair.

I miss the me that didn't fall apart like glass.
I miss the me that didn't have false hope
that everything would get better.
I miss the me that didn't run from her problems.

I want the me who wanted to stand on the sun,
and reach for the clouds.
I want the me who only cried over a dropped ice cream cone,
or a broken toy.
I want the me who always smiled wide enough,
that you could see her tongue through her gapped teeth.

I want to be what I was.
I want to be happy.
I want to not care what others think.
I want to not be rocks at the bottom of the lake.

I long not to be myself.
I long to be the version that people liked,
and wanted.

I stand in a endless plane full of chaos and casualty
While the world spins and hugs me close
A voice whispers to not grow up in a hurry
And a mind full of creativity it shows

Forward three years I hear it again
Calling me towards history to be witness to the passage
As shielding me from the past would be in vain
For the voice says without this knowledge many shall perish

Two years pass before I hear the familiar voice once more
Saying to use that creativity and I’ll go far
I listen and my creativity I explore
And this time the voice has an avatar

Years pass and the voice has stayed by my side
As I look at the present in disgust as I see echoes of time.
A hand brushes against mine and cried
I look down to them and realize that the voice I heard was me intime
And I gladly take on the role of A voice

There is an old, cherry oak Grandfather clock perched atop the hearth of my girlhood. In the early days, I never knew the absence of its ticking. Every room, every season, every dream— superimposed over a perpetual rhythmic symphony. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Until one day, many moons ago, I found a garden filled with garden sounds. An Earthsong played all through the summer, and as my limbs grew, so too did the space between that clock and me. So too, did the choir of humanity in my ears.

These days, I have sewn seeds in a lifetime of gardens, and I have heard each and every hymn. The harmony of the world clawed its way into my heart like a river-carved canyon and never stopped singing. But sometimes, in the stillness of the night, it fills my spirit once again, that clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. In scrapbooks and old letters. Tick. Tick. Tick. In a broken silver locket and the remnants of a poem written long ago. Tick. Tick. In the arms of the girl I love. Tick.

There is an old, cherry oak Grandfather clock perched atop the hearth of my girlhood. I am a woman now, but I listen for the ticking still.

When did time become cruel
Stealing moments away
As the years clock out your youth,

Every bird flies away from the nest
Every cub becomes a bear,
When the rivers run quick
Don’t be afraid to swim the currents
And find where you fit in.

If wishing wells were real
I’d pour my wealth into the bottom.
I’d wish to go back to the time that we lost
Watching you blossom from just a wee bud
Give you all that I knew at the cost
Knowing some truths hurts more than fiction.

Remembering when you couldn’t stand tall
And the smallest little smirk when you walked vs crawl
Seeing the way you made sense of this all
Like the world was a puzzle you always knew how to solve
And now that you’re here I can’t shake this off
A fear that you’ll never need me again and I fall
Down to my knees and pray that you know.:

I love you, my little bean

And should you ever call
If ever in need —
I can be your shield and armor
Need a sword, I’ll be there and nothing can harm us
Swing for the head and we’ll **** this hydra
I’ll be there to be a prop if you need to stand taller.

Together, maybe we can slow down time,
But no matter the weather, I’ll be there rain or shine
If no one says it, then I’ll yell it louder.
I AM SO PROUD OF YOU BABY!
My beloved daughter.

They say “you don’t know true sadness”,
Yet how could that be true?
They have forgotten what it was ike to be a teenager,
Because at that age,
Is when you feel - everything -
The hight of all emotion-
The most intense-
Biologically it’s true,
You may have not lost or experienced like they have,
But to be at this age,
Is the ongoing battle,
Into the new uncertain world-
Figure out who you are,
Juggling through the circus that is school,
Being chucked around like a puppet by society,
While your brain is still developing

You feel it all-
The ecstatic happiness and joy,
And being dragged down to depth of your mind,
Where there is no escape,
Being taken over and drowned by anxiety and stress,
The fear of being judged by everything and everyone,
Easier for others- while harder for some
-So don’t you dare forget that everyone has struggles
Even if they try to hide them from the world

-JJ
15/04/25

the mirrorless child sits alone
wondering which truth is their own
for they were not taught of twists and plots
or shown visions of their own worth
comfort zones aren't made of heroes
who you become is not your reflection
which holds the truth
but the devil has his own house of mirrors
and I wouldn't dare to enter

i want food
i want to eat and sleep and be pampered
like a brat cat that gets so much love
enough of being a dog, it is tiring
and i think i am living in dog years
wait i was about to say cat years,
i want to live in tortoise years
as a tortoise