Caught in
the middle of
growing up and staying young,
stuck between fighting with my brother
and catching tears in a glass
jar to remind myself that I
am still allowed
to cry,
fixed in this mess of
being 18 years young,
of signing waivers to
allow you to sit
beside me and hold my hand,
I watch the nurse clean the needle
with careful precision and I know,
she is somebody else’s mother.
I am not yet ready to leave this here.
I am loved, and loving, and
young, but growing.
Time waits for no child,
and like the years that
left in minutes,
I would never wish any more
of this precious time away.
But today,
in the middle of these thoughts,
the nurse slides the needle
into my arm and
it is so easy to
release your hand.
the middle of
growing up and staying young,
stuck between fighting with my brother
and catching tears in a glass
jar to remind myself that I
am still allowed
to cry,
fixed in this mess of
being 18 years young,
of signing waivers to
allow you to sit
beside me and hold my hand,
I watch the nurse clean the needle
with careful precision and I know,
she is somebody else’s mother.
I am not yet ready to leave this here.
I am loved, and loving, and
young, but growing.
Time waits for no child,
and like the years that
left in minutes,
I would never wish any more
of this precious time away.
But today,
in the middle of these thoughts,
the nurse slides the needle
into my arm and
it is so easy to
release your hand.
