Unspoken Things Of Growing Up

Back then I wore what felt like mismatched socks and grass stained knees, I never thought of how I looked, or how my look, laugh, or look was booked. The mirror didn’t meek a thing, just smudged up glass and, daydream wings, no voice inside to say “too much”, no fear of eyes, stares, or touch. Boys were friends with scraped up shoes, trading snacks and silly news, no games, no lies, no heartbreak art which never once could touch my heart. But now I check my face too long, pick flaws apart like something’s wrong. I shrink myself To fit some mold, I never asked for, never told. And boys, oh god, they’re not the same, they flirt they ghost, they play a game. They hold your heart with practiced hands, they drop it like it’s made of sand. I miss the days I didn’t care, when I was loud, wild, and rare, that was before the world taught me to break, to second maybe even third guess every smile I make, every move I make. But somewhere in that younger me, there’s still a spark, a smile, if only one day I can go back hoping to stay little forever, hoping to look cute forever, hoping that the little girl who danced under rain, in a new colorful dress who felt no shame, will find herself again because, she is me, and I WAS her.