On Turning Eight
The whole idea of it makes me feel
Like my childhood is over
That I will walk into the world,
Empty-handed
Maybe I should just give up
And never get to be a kid
That small slice of hope
Could save me from ever having to mature
And be my own person
No longer attached to my mom
Like she is my charger
And I am a phone and
I would die without her
You tell me what to do,
But that is because you have forgotten
That I am eight
And you can’t control me
But I can lie in bed and remember every digit
At four I was a woman,
I could give birth
At two, a cat
Prowling around the house
At six, a wizard,
The best one around.
But now I am mostly staring at that little LED
Screen of my phone.
Back then, I played outside
And my book never sat sadly,
On my desk,
As it does today.
The small words, fading into black.
“This is the beginning of responsibility”
I say to myself, as I do my chores.
Time to say good-bye to sleeping in
Time to get good grades
It seems only yesterday I used to
Make forts, with sheets,
Protecting them from monsters
But now when I make forts,
I watch them crumble,
At the monster’s victory
Copyright © Kirsten Cox | Year Posted 2012
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