Transition

I’ve been cleaning out my childhood bedroom and I’m faced with a lot of the emotions I had when I was in high school. It’s really quite humbling to realize how far I have come in four years, how much personally I have grown, and how much time I still have ahead of me. This poem is just synopsis of those feelings.

Every day’s
A struggle now
Power through
Keep your head down
The bell says
It’s time for class
I’m feeling like
I’m picked last
Out of luck
And out of touch
As I step outside
The going gets rough
They start to sneer,
Start to laugh
There’s that girl
She’s got no class

Twenty now
Boobs really show
I’ve grown a bit
Into my own
I still feel
Like I’ll be picked last –
My thoughts of myself
Aren’t great, they’re trash

Twenty-two
And now I know
I’m beautiful,
But for my soul
Nothing matters
But what you do
So make it count
Your whole life through

I look back
And it’s easy to see
I had no reason
Not to be me
But I also know
That I learned a lot
By not always being first
By coming up short

I learned that everyone
Has something to say
We’re all beautiful
In our own special way
So believe me,
It was a trial,

But it was good for me
To be ugly for a while.

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