You said I’d understand when I grow older,
back when my face was still new.
I’ve since looked over my shoulder
to observe what you always knew.
With your wisdom and guidance,
I invested myself as collateral,
and all I inherited was silence,
both deafening and unilateral.
Oh, how my bones quaked
under the weight of my body and mind,
as I searched and raked
for any answers I could find,
but like leaves, were scattered to the winds.
How many candles does my cake require
before this healing begins?
Because right now it’s on fire.
Am I old enough now?
Have these decades proven that I’m capable?
Have I finally shown you how
I’ve earned a spot at the grownups table?
Could you be so kind
as to pay your emotional debt,
from my childhood in which you dined?
Am I old enough yet?
Age didn’t seem to matter to you at the time,
but with my face now lined like rings from a tree
I’m now closer to your age in this timeline,
wouldn’t you agree?
They say wisdom comes with age,
so allow me to share some of mine
as my candles burn down your performance stage.
“You’ll understand when you grow a spine.”
