Tell the little girl that I once was,
(who read a book every day and wore flowers in her hair)
who I am now, and watch her face fall.
I am not a disappointment, but I can’t help but be disappointed, even if just a bit
it went this way and that, now it’s neither. Thinking about it seems too far away
and when they asked me what I wanted to be, my eyes lit up in thought.
Now, I stare blankly, nothing to say, mouth dry.
i recall the day in 5th grade when I stared at my body in the mirror,
after she told me stripes brought my stomach out,
and he asked me why I was wearing a dress with a body like that.
i was confused, i still am, i was a little girl.
A young woman, they called me. They call me that even more now.
i don’t want to grow up, i am not ready to be a woman.
i sit in my room every afternoon and try to feel joy
in knowing tomorrow’s a new day, like I used to.
i do not lie to others. It is true. It’s true for them,
the days are good but I wake up the next,
mouth soured with the aftertaste of missing
what I had
Being and Feeling, two things I can’t differentiate
so, ask that version of me what she thinks,
and watch her mouth open to respond