Just Wait

A little girl turned seven, believing there are two types of people in the world

them, her

everything they have 

she lusts for

everything she has 

is trash

they have so many friends, the newest toys, she hears them speak most

she has Wyatt, her American Girl Doll, and whispers

A little girl turned fourteen, ingrained in her mind that she isn't

small waists, iPhones, awkward hallway-handholding

rolls her eyes but feels every emotion she pushes back

late at night, alone, dark

loud voices, ditzy tones, smart-mouths, friends and friends and friends

A little girl turned eighteen, marching forth into the new

photos on Instagram of parties she wasn't ask to attend

morning walks of shame 

she walks for change

the Sober Sally, the grandma

drunken slurs, catcalls, frat yells

A little girl turned twenty-one, the beginning of chapter 2

requests for compensated tutoring

mom and dad in the audience

a speech unlike any she had given before

claps, applause, cheers

A little girl turns twenty four, accepting her promotion

paid off loans from night coffee and early mornings

fiancee, golden retriever

daily trips to Starbucks because she damn can

congratulations, encouragement, love

Life