grief from growing

grief from growing // my heart is a hollow drum thrumming to an off-beat melody // i feel the painful shedding of blotchy skin // i run to catch up to time—but will it ever be enough? (will i ever be enough?) // when do i get used to this? // i used to think being older meant freedom, independence // but there is nothing intoxicatingly electric about the weight of the world on my shoulders // some days i’m too tired to let the tears slip // i have to hold my own hand, too afraid to ask anyone else to do it // won’t you see my pain for what it is? i need my father’s gentle hug, my mother’s comforting words // all i ask for is another day, maybe even a selfish week of blissful ignorance // i want that happiness i had at 14, arrogantly confident about the world i had yet to know // i want that hope bottled, need it as my anesthesia to reality // take my hand, hold it to stop the shaking // don’t say a word, don’t give me empty promises of comfort // i only need your presence, if only to remind me i do exist, that this life is mine // i am standing at the precipice, the metaphorical cliff's edge, looking down at the jagged rocks and wondering how i am expected to soar // when do i get to make this age my own? when do i claim this life as mine? the answer, i’m frightened to find i already know, is now // there is no antidote for the pain of growing but time itself