#womanhood - Hello Poetry

i turn 22 in 34 minutes. the rain is falling outside my window, distant. surrounded by loose notes, a hairbrush, my cuddly toys, i start to pen. it is so beautiful to kiss goodbye to another year. it's proof that i withstood another storm of life, with its tears and tantrums and smiles and heartbreaks. half shells and jacket pockets, chestnuts and pebbles, i oscillate between being whole and incomplete. the oldest i have ever been, and yet the youngest i have ever felt, in many ways. a spinning sycamore seed, sent adrift by soft breezes that ruffle my hair like a mother's touch. my hair is so long now, holding so many memories. i no longer feel the familiar urge to cut it all off with the kitchen scissors. my nails are long too, etched in chipped cerulean. my tummy curves gently over the loops of my jeans, my eyebrows, unkempt, require shaping with a spoolie in the mornings. perhaps what i'm trying to say is i no longer try to cull my growth. i just let myself be. i hold every version of the girl i have been in my palm like a braided chain of silken strands, wrap them neatly around my wrist and let them graze against freckle, sunspots, ink stains. the rain is still trickling, my bed is still a mess. i have a slightly misshapen winnie the pooh tucked under my arm; his rough skin is a testament to the many years he's served my sleep. i wonder how he'll look in a year, maybe five. i wonder if he'll still be in my grasp, or sitting next to another baby, a new cousin, second cousin, a niece. not a nephew, unfortunately; he's only ever known girls. girls like me, who love so deeply that no state of disarray could ever deter them from keeping hold of cherished things. girlhood is like a paper streamer lying on the sofa the morning after a party; crinkled, outstretched, pastel pink. never forgotten, or worse, discarded, merely brushed under a carpet or stuffed in a cupboard, to be found when we next try to hoover or clear out. i carry streamers and braided chains and pebbles and teddy bears in one arm, and a laptop, a coffee cup and a sensible jacket in the other. i am, at once, all and nothing. i am, at once, present and distant. i am myself; i am always a girl, treading the whispering cracks of womanhood. i turn 22 in 18 minutes. i have a lifetime left to unfurl every petal of my being. i am anxious; but i'll stay patient. as long as there is rain that can fall, there is water for growth.

0

2d ago

Jun 1, 2026 at 6:46 PM UTC

beetlesbugsandbutterflies

catching cobwebs

i turn 22 in 34 minutes. the rain is falling outside my window, distant. surrounded by loose notes, a hairbrush, my cuddly toys, i start to pen. it is so beautiful to kiss goodbye to another year. it's proof that i withstood another storm of life, with its tears and tantrums and smiles and heartbreaks. half shells and jacket pockets, chestnuts and pebbles, i oscillate between being whole and incomplete. the oldest i have ever been, and yet the youngest i have ever felt, in many ways. a spinning sycamore seed, sent adrift by soft breezes that ruffle my hair like a mother's touch. my hair is so long now, holding so many memories. i no longer feel the familiar urge to cut it all off with the kitchen scissors. my nails are long too, etched in chipped cerulean. my tummy curves gently over the loops of my jeans, my eyebrows, unkempt, require shaping with a spoolie in the mornings. perhaps what i'm trying to say is i no longer try to cull my growth. i just let myself be. i hold every version of the girl i have been in my palm like a braided chain of silken strands, wrap them neatly around my wrist and let them graze against freckle, sunspots, ink stains. the rain is still trickling, my bed is still a mess. i have a slightly misshapen winnie the pooh tucked under my arm; his rough skin is a testament to the many years he's served my sleep. i wonder how he'll look in a year, maybe five. i wonder if he'll still be in my grasp, or sitting next to another baby, a new cousin, second cousin, a niece. not a nephew, unfortunately; he's only ever known girls. girls like me, who love so deeply that no state of disarray could ever deter them from keeping hold of cherished things. girlhood is like a paper streamer lying on the sofa the morning after a party; crinkled, outstretched, pastel pink. never forgotten, or worse, discarded, merely brushed under a carpet or stuffed in a cupboard, to be found when we next try to hoover or clear out. i carry streamers and braided chains and pebbles and teddy bears in one arm, and a laptop, a coffee cup and a sensible jacket in the other. i am, at once, all and nothing. i am, at once, present and distant. i am myself; i am always a girl, treading the whispering cracks of womanhood. i turn 22 in 18 minutes. i have a lifetime left to unfurl every petal of my being. i am anxious; but i'll stay patient. as long as there is rain that can fall, there is water for growth.