Everyone's been telling me
how 'mature' I am,
how 'proud they are' of me,
how 'grown-up' I look.
but that's not what I see.
I see a little girl
with her
head in a book,
and her head in the clouds,
and her thoughts very loud.
Did you know that when I picture myself
I still have blonde hair?
But I look in the mirror
and it isn't there.
Sometimes I still
take a step back.
Sometimes I wish I didn't have to face facts.
Or the mirror...
"Girl, who are you kiddin'?
Looks like you're gettin'
a little big for your britches.
Actually they look a little
bit big on you.
You can't go to that job,
you don't know what to do.
And who died?
You're wearing too much black.
Stand up tall,
straighten your back.
You still look as scared and confused
as the day you were born.
Those've got to be the ugliest shoes
you've ever worn."
After that,
I don't have the energy to smile.
Or bike
one
mile,
because I am so painfully aware
of every stare
at the girl with the apron
on her back
like a cape.
She just wants to escape.
Just wants to end this -
be done with this dumb
little
met-a-mor-pho-sis.
Because I'm not a woman,
and I'm not a girl.
I'm something in between.
Someone that wants to be
heard and not seen.
Just a little
in-vis-i-bil-i-ty.
But at the same time
I wish
that someone
would see -
me.
And my reality.
