Kicked the Door Down

When I was hardly just

twelve years old,

I watched myself grow up.

It didn’t come with a push of maturity,

but rather a fear

of childlike innocence -

ignorance.

I felt that I was looking on from the outside,

watching my facial expressions harden

and my eyes darken

as they were forced to meet adulthood.

If I could go back now

to soften that child’s gaze,

to remind her that a childlike innocence is bliss,

I would do it in a heartbeat.

But instead of waiting for the door to open

to walk into adulthood,

I watched her pull her fingers into a fist

and kick the door down,

wooden splinters cutting into her skin,

as she ran from a childhood she feared -

as she blamed her childish naivety for her pain.

I watched her look into a mirror as her fingers ghosted the scars on her thighs,

the taste of him still stuck on her lips,

as she promised herself

“never again.”

I watched her cut off all her hair

because he made her promise she wouldn’t.

I watched her foolishly fall in love

anytime a boy was sensible enough to ask consent -

she had learned to romanticize this idea

rather than expect it.

I don’t believe I ever grew up.

I abandoned my childhood

and decided that was good enough.