the world stopped at 48.
change change change.
an ugly thing. ugliest of things.
anything lesser or anything more
sends a flutter of panic through my nerves.
the world stopped on a random evening in 7th grade.
nothing really changed since then.
this suitcase of insecurities still weighs the same.
i open it on every birthday,
taking something out and putting something in.
despite braces and haircuts,
despite loving and being loved,
the marvelous thing is that it weighs the same.
the world stopped at 48.
on weekends wearing middle school clothes i haven't thrown away,
i anxiously check to see if it hasn't moved,
right when you learn to navigate the world in a body,
it changes, throwing you off your game.
leaving you to find new things to love and new things to hate,
it sets you at ease before starting over again.
wearing the pink top i revered Rowling in,
i now revere Plath. reverence remains.
sitting on the same wooden swing,
i text the boy i now love. obsession remains.
