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.
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
found it for me.
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
I was only 13.
Freshman year of
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
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.
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.
I’m a junior now, the oldest
I’ve ever been.
I’m becoming closer to the person
I want to be.
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.