open letters to no one

annul

I'm four years old with hair I never brushed and a mouth I let run just as wild
my tongue didn't stutter, not back then,
not yet.
a few years down the line and my mom says "your thoughts are too big for your body" and I didn't understand-
not back then,
(not yet)
but I learned to pour myself on paper instead of letting anything drip out of my mouth.
ten years old and I stopped playing tag ages ago. recesses were spent helping my teacher file papers and wondering why I preferred discussions with her about minds and our favorite books than things my classmates had to say.
twelve with a fire in my heart I learned to smother with a polite smile and easy conversation- shield made of A's no one ever bothered to look past (and I never asked them to).
at fourteen, I was tired.
I didn't want to laugh at my peer's jokes and i no longer found solace between the pages of another universe (movies faded first, but I started to unravel a novel's facade too). my headphones were all I had
but that's hard to explain to your mom when she asks what your weekend plans are.
fifteen. i spent so long figuring out how to meet every expectation that i never learned how to relax and it's easy to laugh about how clothes on my floor, colored pencils out of order, really "drive me crazy"
but I can never do the same about arguments I can hear under my covers with the door closed
(I deserve it. my stuttering voice never intervenes anyway).
my mind still feels an awful lot bigger than my body but no one tells me that
anymore.