Growing Too Fast

I’m four years old.

Small, quiet, and blissfully unaware

Of what this world truly is,

And the pain it will one day bring

To everyone living in it.

I’m six years old now.

And I’m starting to learn all about

Why the seasons change and the leaves fall

And why my mother cries and my father drinks while she does.

I’m seven and ¾ today.

And it’s my first day at my new school,

The seventh school in 3 years,

I hold my grandpa’s hand as he walks me through the door

And towards the beginning of a new life.

I’m nine and a half.

I got a call from my mother today.

The caller I.D. had the name of her rehab center

And she begged me to come see her.

I didn’t.

I’m ten years old

And I sit off to the side, watching my cousins play

On this bright, thanksgiving day.

I sit to the side, worried, that someone will get hurt

As they climb the big oak tree.

And they do.

Today is my thirteenth birthday

And instead of spending it with friends like years past,

I sit inside and watch my cousins once again,

While their mother tries to fix her relationship

That is slowly falling to pieces.

I am fourteen and just finished middle school.

And I spend my summer babysitting

While all of my friends play,

And I learn then

That I am growing up far too quickly.

I am seventeen and want time to slow.

I’ve realized that my childhood was sacrificed

So that others could have theirs,

And that I’ve spent the past seven years

Cleaning sticky hands and tear streaked faces,

Kissing bruised knees and sewing stuffed animals,

And loving with everything I have.

And as I type my cousin sleeps with his head on my lap

And I don’t have the heart to wake him,

Because that’s just who I am.