Growing Up

I'm the book lover, the reader, the one people ask,

 'so, how many books have you read?'      

My love for the written word started so sadly.  I don't have a bad life,  

 or even a particularly hard one,but you don't think that when  

 your best friend becomes your worst enemy      

you get up and leave everything you love behind      

the most popular person in the grade reads your journal    

and tells everyone your darkest secrets.  And you definitely don't think      

'I'm so lucky to have all this'  when it's late at night, and you're drowning in your past.

So, I, the new girl more than most, left my world for many others'.

People with problems greater than mine, all solved on the last page.  

Beautiful girls who had the life I dreamed of    

the perfect life    

with the perfect boy    

with the perfect family  

And even the not-so-beautiful girls who found a purpose  

and someone who didn't care how they looked.  

Every time I opened a book,  

the real world was washed away in the wave of words    

that followed.what changed? 

Was it me?  

Did I learn to accept myself?

Allowing others to accept me?

A new life, filled with friends who loved me,      

and all of my quirks.  

Is this growing up?

The realization that life isn't perfect,    

not by a long shot 

but that it makes you stronger, and who you are?

Words on a page

A place where I go to work out problems, not avoid them.  

A love for books, a love for life.offer solitude now, not sanctuary.