I’m five years old, unwrapping birthday presents
out on my backyard deck.
The theme was a cheesy Hawaiian hula, and I wore a
green plastic grass skirt and a
fake pink lei.
Blink.
I had defective glasses
in second grade.
The left lense popped out of my frame,
and scurried onto the floor.
I couldn’t see well without both so,
I searched on the floor like Velma, until
a boy named
Angel
found it for me.
Blink.
I thought I knew what love was
in middle school,
a boy, who barely even tried,
swept me off my feet.
Little did I know,
I would carry the trauma for
years after.
I was only 13.
Blink.
Freshman year of
high school
where I had yelled at a girl
in front of the entire class,
who had cheated on my friend,
someone who ended up not being worth it
because they wouldn’t go up to bat
for me.
Blink.
Graduation.
I was free of the K-12 school system,
and so ready to get away from most I knew.
Though, when it was time to throw my cap in the air,
I held onto it.
Blink.
I’m a freshman in college, saying goodbye
to my friend for spring break,
sipping a strawberry smoothie,
blissfully unaware I would not
see her for longer than a week.
Blink.
I’m a junior now, the oldest
I’ve ever been.
I’m becoming closer to the person
I want to be.
Sometimes
I wonder just how I’ve gotten here
when I still vividly remember stepping onto
my middle school bus for the last time,
refusing to turn around,
like it was yesterday.
Blink.