i'm five years old
& i wait
for you to
look at my drawing
and compliment me.
. . .
i'm ten years old
& i wait
for you to
watch me while i play
and protect me.
. . .
i'm fifteen years old
& i wait
for you to
tell me it's ok
and comfort me.
. . .
i'm twenty years old
& i wait
for you to
realize i've lost my way
and notice me.
. . .
i'm twenty five years old
& i wait
for you to
take a few minutes
and call me.
- - -
it's the eleventh hour
& i'm still waiting
for you

in the moon clad morning
it's cold and the dew
readies its departure from
the leaves it clings to.

i'm cold and like the dew
i too ready myself
to leave and be on my way

away from this nest
that broke me as a fledgling &
clipped my wings so i can never
go too far hard as i may try.

& I may try
but still too I'm here
looking for pieces
of my wings
that fail me every flight.

aiming directionless indiscretion
hitting what was layed before us
as if that be what we desired
all along.

who are we when there lay
nothing before us and
what may we spearhead in
land not blazen for us

will we ever know?
i don't think so.

maybe it's because
i changed my name
that i no longer
feel like a child.

i miss the way
you called me mija
though i'll never
admit it.

is it too late
to change it back?