I'm too shy

I don't want to be afraid

But still meek anxiety

Drives me insane

I want to make everyone happy

Be everything for them

But I just keep on failing

Again and again and again

I got sucked down the vortex

Vortex of a teenage mind

In this rolling, racing vortex

Questions are all I can ever find

This crazy vortex

Feels like a roller coaster

I'll fight through what comes next

This isn't over

In this cold and lonely vortex

I'll never be alone

God is here beside me

Guiding me back home

A gentle breeze in my mind

The softest hand holds my heart

My life is in His grip

He's held me from the start 

I'm caught in the vortex

Vortex of my racing mind

In this colorful vortex

Everything will turn out fine

New failure

What we want to change

Always makes a point to stay

What we need to stay

Is bound someday to change

Time flows too fast

They'll fall away

They'll never last

Moving on without us

No one left to trust

When we're stuck here

Trapped by our fear

Running in circles alone

Trapped in this box we call home

Surrounded by the rolling racing tide

But we can't enjoy the ride

Right here we stay stuck

The kids who never grew up

They say we'll learn and grow 

How do they know

They mock all of the adults

Who act like kids

Who won't give their all

Don't know how to exist

How long before that's you or me

Just when will we be

The kids who never grew up

Still we keep going

In the box, our own current flowing

The perfect future

We haven't found

Dusty wings brush the ground

Pulling, hoping, running, falling

Rushing, rising, living, flying

Maybe we didn't grow up 

Maybe we're still stuck

In our quirky reality

But we can still be

The kids who rose above

The kids who never gave up

miserable? I'm ruining my childhood. I'm letting my family down. “I’m worthless,” I whisper. The words feel too dense for the air, falling to the cement floor like bricks. Maybe because I said it out loud, or the intense emotion just ran its course, but either way I begin to calm down, my tattered breath returning to normal. I look up and unclench my fists, then take a deep breath and stand up on shaky legs. I survey myself in the dirty mirror that leans against a stack of totes full of clothes and books. I got the mirror off of the side of the road a few months ago because I thought I could make something cool out of the glass. My reflection looks almost as worn as the once-elegant trim. There are faint bags under my eyes, and my skin is sticky and gross, besides the fact that I’m beet red. My dirty blonde hair is a mess, and my arms look thin under my big t-shirt. I shrug. I look like the protagonist of a very dramatic movie. Pre glow up, of course. I giggle at that. Yeah, I’m a hot mess, but I’m not in a coming of age movie yet. Plus, I don’t have the right body type to be the protagonist of anything. Most days I feel too small for my body. Sighing, I head inside to refill my water bottle.

I pause outside for a moment, letting the cool air calm my nerves, maybe freeze out the rest of my dramatic thoughts. I’m careful not to let the house's front door squeak, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. The only light I can see is the dim glow from the lamp in the kitchen. It's enough to illuminate my younger sister, Alex, who is sitting at the table wearing a red t-shirt. “Hey, Brooks,” she says nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Am I not allowed to eat cheese balls at 10:30pm?” Her green eyes twinkle, and her high ponytail looks surprisingly bouncy for this time of night. 

I can’t help laughing. “It isn’t wise,” I point out.

“Eh, I’ll live. What were you doing in the garage?”

“You know I like to craft in the garage.” That isn’t a lie. All of my supplies are out there since it has more space and less carpet than our shared bedroom. I never said I was crafting now.

“Weirdo,” she says as I make my way back to the door, water bottle filled.

I stick my tongue out as I escape, still smiling for a moment. Then I let out a sigh. The whole exchange was so normal. She doesn’t know anything is wrong. To be fair, I have way better control when I’m with people. At least, over things like this. Truthfully, I might flip out about little things, like, multiple times a week. I really can’t hold it together. But I can hide some things. I don't tell anyone that I feel like life is running away. That I think everything I do and say is wrong and my existence itself is a waste of time and energy. No, I just complain loudly for entire afternoons about schoolwork, or freak out when I can't find the shirt I want to wear, or cry for two hours when my sister says something even slightly offensive. I might as well scream from the rooftops that I’m stressed. If I were nicer, I wouldn’t. I feel horrible when my mood affects the rest of my family, but I have no self control. I have to let my feelings out. If only I could tell them the reason just as easily. It's not like I'm really trying to hide anything, because I can't, I just feel like they don’t get it. I’m screaming, but nobody really hears what it is that I’m saying.

Still, maybe Alex doesn’t know that anything is wrong because when I spend time with her nothing is wrong. Much as it hurts that nobody knows what’s going on, sometimes I need a reality check. She doesn’t give me the time to be worried or confused because with her I'm too busy giggling over something stupid or we’re mercilessly skipping each other’s turns in Uno. She’s my bright side, my chill pill, my personified therapy. My sister is my best friend. 

It's just that if I'm being completely honest, I don’t know if she’d even care that I’m upset. That's what scares me most.

I know I’m being stupid. Why should she care? There’s nothing to care about. I’m inventing problems. It’s an illusion for me alone. She has her own life, and probably her own problems. She is the one with the learning disorder, after all. I’ve seen her crying to Mom about her struggles, though she’s usually strong. Gosh, I’m so selfish. I should be worrying about her instead of being upset that she isn’t worrying about me when there’s nothing to worry about. You see what I mean by dumpster fire now, right?

Putting my complicated thoughts and instinct to keep breathing way too fast aside, I reenter the garage and force myself to focus back on my tablet, which is open to a YouTube dance tutorial. Dancing is probably one of the reasons I'm even in this state of mind right now, but it's also something I love to do. I'm dumb like that. I dance all the time for fun, but it's not like I'm any good at it. Now's as good a time as any to change that, though. And if I give my stupid fat body some excercise in the process, that won't hurt, either. Dancing is only one of my many projects (sometimes I feel unaccomplished and empty if I don't have enough short term goals to work on), and lately it's been hard to keep up with all of my endeavors plus school. That's not even to mention family or friends. My entire life feels off kilter, but I really do love to dance, even if the garage is a small practice space. So I turn up the music and focus. 

I'm currently trying to learn "Can't We Just Leave The Monster Alive?" by TXT. I just need to hear, “It’ll be alright, alright, alright,” because right now my whole body is telling me that it will most certainly not be alright. But I don't have to think as I follow the screen propped up against the mirror and the beats playing in my ears. All I have to do is move my body in a certain way, a bounce here and a twist there, and suddenly I'm dancing, and then it's just me and the music and the sweat on my back. And for a while I truly feel alive.

That's until I try to perfect the pre-chorus. I replay Yeonjun’s key footwork around fifteen times, but I just can’t keep the steps in my head. They’re probably bouncing off of the same suffocating wall that keeps reflecting all of my thoughts back onto each other in one big jumble. After another ten minutes or so, I’ve gotten exactly nowhere. Glaring at my reflection in the mirror, I decide that I will keep going until I get it. Twenty minutes later, I’m kicking the wall in defeat.

I decide to work on another end of the world issue instead: crafting. Funny story on that:

"Hey, Brooks, just coming to check on you," Dad said yesterday. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the hanging light as he entered the garage. A breeze followed him through the door, cooling my face as I hurriedly turned off the phone and went to stand by my craft desk. I pretended I was busy with the glue gun, but it really wasn't even plugged in. "How're the crafts coming?"

"Good," I said casually, even as my mind flickered to the Etsy order I had yet to start.

"You're doing that show with Aunt Dede on Saturday, right?"

Shoot. Shootshootshoot.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Yup!" Or did forget and completely screwed myself. Whatever.

"You've been working hard out here lately. You should be pretty well prepared."

"Uh-huh! Definitely!" Nope. I was not prepared. Not at all. In fact, I was doomed.

I grabbed the phone to text Aunt Dede as soon as Dad left. Scooching myself up to sit on the hood of our old lawnmower, I typed, "R we still doing the craft fair Saturday?"

Her response came through seconds later: "Of course! I'll pick u up at 8."

"K, how much are you bringing?"

"I was going to do 20 hats and 10 paintings. Why?"

"Just trying to figure out how much I should bring." 

'And make,' I thought as I sent the message.

"I'd say around 20 key chains and 20 headbands. Are u doing shirts?"

I bit my lip, drumming my fingers on the back of the phone. I had five key chains made, and the materials for at least fifteen more. I also had the decorations for the headbands, but not enough plastic bases. T-shirts are fun to decorate, but I wasn't sure I had time. Six days to make fifteen key chains and twenty headbands was bad enough. I'd also need to buy more plain shirts. It probably wouldn't be worth it. Screw that. I could do it. It should've been started already, anyway. "Yeah, will 10 shirts be ok?" I typed.

"Sounds perfect."

I smiled. Perfect. I could do this.

So now I set to work. One key chain, four headbands, and a few paint stains on my jeans later, I'm so tired I can hardly stand up without wanting to die on the spot. Besides that, the garage is freezing. I reluctantly trudge back to my bedroom, where I find Alex fast asleep. The wise decision would be to go to bed myself, but do I? Nope. Instead I find myself eating chocolate ice cream out of the carten while watching YouTube at one in the morning. Sighing, I finally turn the device off. I didn't care about anything when it was on, but now I have to–ugh–think. Why am I so stupid? One in the morning on YouTube, yet I can't bear to keep working on things that need done. If I put so much pressure on myself that it causes this weird anxiety thing (which it shouldn't), I could at least hold myself to my standard. I'm being all dramatic, yet I'm still so light on myself. Some days–or nights–the world feels impossible. 

I don't have much trouble falling asleep, my body tired and my mind quickly falling back into the digital world. Of course. I'm pathetic. I do have lots of trouble waking up in the morning, but I eventually drag myself out of bed. It's an hour later than I want it to be, which fills my chest with a tight frustration, but I push past it and open my computer to begin classes.

I realize it's open to a coding screen. That's the other thing I've been working on.

I was headed to the garage with my phone last week when I glanced down and quickly changed my plans. I saw a text from my friend, Zara. "You busy?" She asked. 

I had a feeling I knew where this was going, so I replied with a, "Nope!" Sure enough, I was soon riding my bike down the road, my heart thumping a little too hard. The sky was bright, yellow leaves crossing my path as I pedaled harder. Cold air snapped at my cheeks, and I breathed it in happily.

My heart beat even faster when I came to the end of the road. As always, I hesitated at the light, even when there were no cars coming. I wondered if I should turn back, but I didn't. Eventually I rolled into the busier road and made my way down, towards the park. I flinched every time I heard the whirr of tires behind me, and I could barely see past the tangle of blonde hair flying into my eyes, but the speed made me feel alive.

Zara was already on the swings when I swerved through the gate, skidding on the gravel. "Yo!" I called with a smile, half waving as I hopped off of the seat and put my kickstand down. "Nice hair," I added, observing the purple and blue mixed into her rich brown locks that peaked out from underneath her beanie.

"Thanks, I died it myself," she said airily, brushing it off of her shoulder.

"No you didn't," I told her.

"Fine. They're clips."

"That explains the beanie."

"What? It's cold out."

"Uh-huh." I sat down on the swing beside hers. "So-ome things never cha-ange!" I sing-songed. I knew the clips were horribly scattered on top of her hair, just like she had worn them when we were nine. That had been when I went to public school. Since I started cyber schooling this year, I haven't seen as much of Zara, so it was a relief to know she was still the same goofball.

"Ugh, not Frozen!" Zara protested.

"Come on, you used to have a Frozen backpack," I reminded her.

"Used to. Meanwhile you still have a Hello Kitty T-shirt."

"Hello Kitty is cool, and I bet that backpack is still in your closet."

"I hate you," she informed me. We laughed, our voices echoing across the deserted playground. I kicked hard at the ground as Zara started playing music off of her phone. Soon I was going much higher than she was, practically flying away from the world. For a moment I envisioned the chain breaking. I would just fly forever. I shared this idea with Zara, and she laughed at me. "That would hurt," she commented.

I giggled. "Whatever."

Truthfully, I felt like I was flying already. The park is one of the few places I'm allowed to go by myself, let alone actually have the means to get to. Going there with Zara feels like freedom. With how I've been feeling lately–stressed beyond imagination even though I don't actually have anything interesting going on in my life, trapped in my own mind, boxed in by my stupid temper–freedom is something I'm learning to cherish.

"Oh! I saw this thing online, you have to do it!" Zara exclaimed after a few moments of swinging along to the music without talking.

"Do what? I'm not breaking any laws, ok." I giggled.

"Shut up, I'm trying to explain!"

"Sorry." I held my hands up in surrender, then nearly fell off of the swing. Zara snorted as I hurriedly regripped the chains. "Go on," I said casually.

"It's a coding competition for high schoolers. The winner gets free classes and a trip to LA!"

"Seriously? That's so cool!" I said, designs already coming together in my head.

"You have to do it," Zara said again.

I smiled. Why not? "Duh!" I agreed.

"I'll send you the link so you can look at it."

"You're the best."

We parted twenty minutes later, each heading in our respective direction for the long ride home. I felt light as a feather, full of sunshine and joy.

So that's another thing I've got going on. The days are taking on a regular schedule. Wake up, get mad about waking up late, school, meltdown (some days worse than others), guilt, coding (everyone assumes I'm doing homework on the computer; they think I work harder than I do), go outside if it isn't dark or raining (I'm beginning to hate the dark), dance (usually only for twenty minutes), crafts, watch YouTube, bed. Time is ticking away. Rain pounds on the garage's metal roof more often than not, making me feel even more anxious.

I never get everything that I want done. I always feel like I'm drowning, but in reality I'm fine. My headbands and key chains are getting sloppier. Every time I think I might be getting good at dancing, I look in the mirror and realize I'm still as awkward as ever. As for coding, progress is slow. It's been a hobby of mine ever since I took an online class for fun two years ago, but I've never tried anything as big as this contest.

I guess it makes sense that I'm stressed. It's clear that what I'm doing is too much, but it shouldn't be. I love these things. I want to be able to handle them. I will be able to handle them. Still, I hate this feeling. I know I'm wasting my time being miserable and that scares me, because I only have so much time. One day I'll wake up and be in the 'twenty years later' epilogue, a grown woman with actual responsibilities. I want to be a kid while I can, but I don't know how to escape myself. I try to be carefree, but sometimes it feels forced and leaves me even more stressed. It's like there's a gaping chasm inside of me, blocking the way to what I really want, whatever that is at this point. One wrong step and I'll go plummeting down into the void.

In the end, it's a tiny thing that sends me crashing down. I'm trying to perfect the chorus to "Can't We Just Leave the Monster Alive?", but I keep getting stuck on a certain part. I repeat it over and over. And over and over and over. And– I have no control over my feet. I hear plastic and metal crashing together as I stumble into my desk, sending craft supplies flying everywhere. I don't even hit that hard, it barely even hurts, but it's enough to make the tension that's been building for weeks light up as rage in my chest. 

I choke out a scream, wildly tearing things off of the desk and hurtling them across the room. Buttons, plastic headbands, tape, copper wire, it's all bouncing off of the piles of junk. My eyes are burning. My throat is burning. Everything is burning. I wish I could throw harder. I wish I were stronger. I yank the glue gun's cord out of the wall and throw that, too. A sickening crack fills the air and I look up just in time to see cracks like spider webs spread over the surface of the mirror. I'm frozen for a moment, staring at my fragmented reflection. 

"Are you ok, sweetie?" It's Mom. She cracks the door open and peeks through, concern clouding her brow when she notices the craft supplies littering the already cluttered room.

I humm out a reply, but it doesn't sound all that convincing. Especially since I'm crying the next second. And trust me, I would prefer to not be crying right now, but the tears are there anyway, tickling the inside of my head and spilling out of my eyes. No matter how hard I might try, I can't hold them back. And so I stand there ugly crying in front of the broken mirror. I never could hide my emotions.

Mom doesn't say anything else as she enters the garage, sidestepping clutter to come and wrap me up in her sturdy arms. I remain stiff for a moment, my movements delayed by the thoughts running through my head. It wasn't even twenty minutes ago that Mom was yelling at me about my horrible attitude towards Alex. Guilt washes over me as I lean into her embrace. She's so soft and warm. Why do I have to make things so hard for her?

She holds me like that until my tears subside. My back is a little stiff by the time she pulls away, and then it's only to take hold of my shoulders and look me in the eye. I'm having trouble looking back at her brown eyes, so full of compassion and well-concealed weariness.

"I'm sorry I yelled earlier," she says gently.

"Sorry for being crappy," I reply, sniffling.

"I get that you're stressed. Life can be…a lot. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"It wasn't your fault." Because it wasn't. It was my fault. I was the one making everything difficult. "Mom, what's wrong with me?"

"I think you're overwhelmed with a lot of things right now. And I think you might not be the best at handling those emotions."

I let out a wet snort at that. "No duh."

I expect her to lecture me, point out all of my mistakes, tell me how to make it better but I still won’t be able to change anything. She doesn't. She doesn't say anything for a while, just takes my hand and gently rubs the back of it. "It won't always be like this. You're so much more than you think you are. You're going to be ok."

On the one hand, they sound like generic, empty words. She can't possibly know that anything will get better, and I like to think I have a fairly realistic perception of myself. Still, I want to believe her. Because she sounds so sure, so sincere. And she's looking at me with love, not judgment or even much pity. "I love you, Brooks. You're so loved. And that has nothing to do with your performance." And that was it, the words that break my resolve, crumble my walls. Finally the pieces clicked into place.

Fresh tears burn my eyes, and I have no choice but to bury my face in Mom's shoulder, letting the soft fabric of her blouse cushion me. She giggles, patting my head and then hugging me some more. 

We pull apart at the sound of Alex screaming from inside the house. "MOM! HOW LONG DO I COOK THE FRICKIN' HAM FOR?"

"Ham?" I ask, immediately perking up from how I was moments ago.

"Your sister's helping, so don't get your hopes up," Mom laughs, getting up to go assist her.

I laugh too, and then feel Mom's eyes settle on me, a fond smile on her face. "You good now?"

I shrug. "Better. Thanks, Momma."

I stare at the door for a few moments after Mom leaves, then turn around to assess the damage… and let out a verbal groan. The mere sight of the garage is overwhelming. It isn't going to fix itself, though. I gingerly pick up a piece of glass from the floor, careful not to cut my finger on the sharp edge. I can see my left eye staring back at me, bloodshot and shiny from crying. I hold the piece back a little and smile without opening my mouth, watching the dimples appear on either cheek. I don't look amazing, but I look alive. And that's the thing, isn't it? I'm still alive. And there's a lot more to my life than what's going on in my mind. 

I think back over the last month, over the good points instead of bad. Laughing with Alex. Swinging with Zara. Teasing Dad. Hugging Mom. Sunshine in between the clouds. Wind on my cheeks and stars in my eyes. People I love by my side. I'm loved. I'm loved by so many people. They might not understand every thought I have, and I might not be able to articulate everything, but they do care. Between all of the business, or maybe because of it, they make my life beautiful. 

It took me a while to realize it, but rain makes things grow. The darker a night is, the brighter the stars are. I might be a little bit of a disaster, but I'm not alone. I don't know anything about anything, but maybe learning is what makes life exciting.

My problems don't all disappear in a flash. This isn't a fairytale. There are still bad days, lots of bad days. Sometimes I kick myself back to square one, maybe even lower than that, but every time I make it back up. The light is definitely shining through. I might not be perfect, but I think I'm going to be alright.

You're so much faster than me.

You know exactly what you want to be.

You're two steps ahead of me.

I'm two steps behind you.

You're running away, I'm losing hope.

Please wait for me, where did you go?

I'm lost alone.

I don't know what to do.

I just want to be like you.

Never growing old.

Ever rising passion, 

Simple wonder at the world.

Age 

Is just a number

Maybe 

We can choose it.

Old and wise,

Young and vibrant,

What if

We could have it all? 

What if

There were no limits?

Mirror, mirror, go away.

Don’t ruin me, don’t waste the day.

Mirrored wall breaking down,

I think at last I hit the ground.

Dad called it Abbyland.

I was always singing along 

To the theme songs of my favorite cartoons 

Over and over

And playing ponies 

All day long

But then the cheesy songs faded out

And the ponies trotted away

Gradually,

So I didn't notice.

Now I'm fourteen years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

Here I am.

I used to think I'd never change, 

That I couldn't if I tried.

Now I'm not so sure.

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like it? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup?

How long before my dolls go untouched? When will video games rot my mind? 

Has it already started?

I like a boy band. 

This is the beginning of the end.

Maybe I should just give in

And follow the trends, 

But I don't want to be

Just any regular teen. 

I'm not giving up on me.

I guess this is normal. 

I'm just growing, 

But what if we can grow too far?

What if we can forget who we are? 

When do we outgrow our personality? 

Am I leaving myself behind me? 

What if I could just flip back a page

And be that little girl again?

Who is she?

Where is she?

I want her

To still be me.

I guess it's good

That life goes on

And bad times pass, 

But what's the price?

The good times fade off, too,

And we're left

To miss ourselves.

I'm thinking all this through,

My mind is one big mess,

When the sun smiles down on me,

Relieving all the stress.

I'm six years old again,

Reaching for the sky. 

Limits, they don't matter. 

I feel like I can fly.

Nothing has changed.

We don't change. 

We can't. 

What if we just expand? 

I've learned to try new things,

And that is good.

I don't need dolls or ponies to be me,

And that is good.

The present is forming around the past,

Like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast. 

The first is still there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen 

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully

And that tree

Will still be me.

Maybe I should just live for life 

And like what I like. 

I don’t usually go with the flow,

But I won't try or try not to grow. 

Maybe someday I'll buy ripped jeans 

And try a croptop,

But if I do,

I hope I'll smile in the mirror

And remember to remember

Every heartbeat that brought me there. 

Remember who I was, 

Who will still be

Who I am.

Remember to cherish every moment.

I'll learn a little maturity,

But I won't lose me.

I've always been here. 

Is it wrong to like good music?

Am I still me if I don't watch kids shows? 

The outside doesn't define me.

I know

I will always be 

That child

At heart.

Not about that,

But what about who I was,

Who I will be? 

If I can change so fast, 

Who am I, really? 

What does any of it mean?

Six pages 

Of trying to understand myself, 

Of brain battles,

Of tangling myself around.

I'm a spider 

Caught in my own web. 

What have I found?

Nothing.

I'm more confused than ever. 

I've only learned that I,

Whoever I am,

Am my own worst enemy.

I still have six pages.

Six pages

That I'm trying to unscramble,

Six pages

That I will figure out.

Six pages

Can't get the best of me.

Whoever I am,

I'm determined.

Six pages

Don't stand a chance.

And the lines do get bent.

We're teenage girls

Expanding our worlds

And this is the best time.

To be alive.

I'm normally calm.

Compared to other kids I'm an angel, 

But I'm still stupid 

And smart about it.

I am careful

That as far as I can see,

The only person I could hurt is me,

So let's go a little crazy 

And laugh until it hurts 

And then just be.

    Mom was actually about to donate you but, thank goodness, my sister and I got bored and decided to open you. Of course we instantly fell in love. Your faces were so cute and you were just the right size to take on any adventure. I was either very generous or incapable of playing on my own and I let my sister have Mackaila and Hailey, but I kept Ella and Lilly to myself. My sister got Sarina and Sydney for her next birthday and when Sarina hurt her neck we managed to meet the other Sarina and the other Sydney! I misread one of the boxes when the next two came along so someone called Louaou came with the other Lilly. Last to come was Lulu and our group was complete.

    I'm sorry we doubled up on so many names and I'm very sorry that we named your home Baby Bikini World! We had picked up the word 'bikini' somewhere and we thought it was very fun to say (because it is). 

    We had some very fun times picking a "Cutest" each day to receive special treatment and swaddling up in old baby socks at night. Instead of going to sleep right away we would stay up late talking and pretending we were in dreams. Do you remember?

    You were such a big part of my life and I owe so much to you! You were the models for a lot of my early drawings (my sister and I wouldn't hang any pictures up in our room besides the ones we made of you!) and now a piece of my artwork is going to be published in a real book. The first story I ever wrote was about you, and now I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't figure things out by writing about them. What about crafts? The experience of sewing tiny cloths for you has helped when a stuffed animal needs fixed or my favorite pants have a rip. Thank you for all of it.

    We used to talk while doing math, but last year I worked hard to focus on my pre-algebra textbook (and I was only in seventh grade). We used to clean up our messes slowly using my brother's toy dump trucks, but now I fold laundry just because I like to be useful. We used to pretend that I was your babysitter, but now I can actually stay home alone with my younger siblings. I've changed a bit, I guess. I'm more mature now, but I'm really not that different.

    I know I don't play with you every day like I used to and maybe I get embarrassed when I forget to put you away when my friends come over (sorry!) but I still love you. I love the sharpie smudge on Louaou's cheek, Sarina's wobbly head, and the loss of almost all of your shoes and binkies that reminds me of all our old fun. That's right, I'm still the same little girl with the poofy skirt and the constant giggle. I still love dolls and other babyish things and that's ok. I still jump at the chance to watch a Barbie movie with my little sister and that's ok. I am responsible and I am a child. Yes, I can have both. Nobody is stopping me from loving my dolls, not even maturity! I will always love you and any other harmless thing I like and it's all thanks to you. Thank you for being so lovable that I just have to be like this, because it makes life a lot brighter when the world is in chaos.

Sincerely Your Loving Kid,

Abby Rater

P.S.

If you see any Polly Pockets or LOL Dolls, please share that last part with them. The American Girl Dolls also say hi and thanks.

AR 

Simple Description

     The word for me is dreamer.

Growing up Without Getting Bogged Down

     Our passions still keep us youthful.

Dressing up my dolls,

Dancing along to Disney theme songs,

And making my friends laugh. 

I'm a bit dramatic.

(Maybe more than a bit)

I can be serious when I want to,

I like some "boring" things, 

And I'm really good at school,

But it all just adds to the vibrant mesh of me,

Who I've always been

And who I'll always be. 

There's just one thing.

I'm 14 years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

I used to say I'd never be a teenager.

Well, here I am. 

I'd say I'd never change,

But now I'm not so sure.

"I'll always like My Little Pony." 

"No you won't."

"I'll never like a boy band."

"Yes you will." 

They were right. 

I don't know what happened to my pony figures

But they're gone 

And I don't care like I want to. 

I can't believe it

But I'm a fan of BTS. 

I can't help but love their personality,

Their message,

Their music.

Is it wrong to love good music? 

Am I still me if I don't watch kid shows anymore? 

It all sounds so stupid,

But if that can change so fast,

What else will I gain and lose?

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like one? 

How long before my dolls go untouched? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup? 

When will violent video games rot my mind? 

I don't want to grow up.

They make it sound all great on TV,

But it's a trap.

"Life goes on.”

Yes, it's great to learn and grow, 

To let the bad times pass, 

But what's the price? 

Am I losing myself? 

Am I leaving me behind?

When do we outgrow our personality?

How do I stop myself from doing it?

What if we grow too far? 

What if we forget who we are?

I've never been able to go with the flow, 

But I don't think I'll try or try not to grow. 

I think I'll just let the real me show, 

Whoever I am, wherever I go.

Maybe I'll just live for life

And like whatever I like.

Does growth have to mean change? 

I could just be expanding.

The present is forming around the past;

It's like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast.

The first is still in there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully.

And that tree 

Will still be me.

I don't understand it all,

But here's what I know:

Right now I have a fuzzy sweater on, 

Right now the world outside is beautiful,

Right now I like my dolls,

Right now I'm jamming to a boy band, 

Right now there's a smile on my face,

Right now everything is ok,

And right now is a day I want to save.

No matter what the future brings, 

No matter how I grow,

This is now 

And I'll always have the memories. 

If I ever decide

To wear ripped jeans and crop tops, 

I hope I'll smile in the mirror 

And remember.

I'm still the same little girl

On the inside.

To hold it all together, 

To make it fit, 

And to give it use.

Time--

It is running

Like the wheel of a broken wagon.

It rolls away, 

Too quick to catch, 

And leaves me feeling stranded.

Stuck. 

Lost.

Time--

It is here, now, 

Firm as the ground below me, 

Beautiful as the sky above. 

What lovely ground! 

Such magnificent sky! 

And it's been here all along.

It's seen every memory. 

Each hope is planted here.

Time is but a single thing. 

The past, the future, 

They both make the present.

Past, 

Present, 

Future, 

They all make time.

Of my innocent MG books. 

And just a bit too scared

For the daunting YA ones.

Too big for my old, simple bike,

 Too short for my 10-speed.

Young enough still to love my dolls,

Old enough to be embarrassed about it. 

I can enter the contests for teens, 

But their writing all stands over mine. 

I'm eye level with their elbows, 

And their shoulders lock together,

Blocking out the sky for me. 

The days of those clean stanzas 

With ever-perfect rhyme, 

They are all gone.

My words are scrambled, 

But falling back together 

In a lovely loose verse. 

I will be a butterfly 

And spread my colorful wings

With an intensified joy, 

With more freedom than ever

To be me.

What happened to me? 

What about dolls and poofy skirts?

How long before they go too? 

What about crop tops and violent movies? 

How long before I'm into that? 

Has it already started?

"Life goes on,” 

But what if I don't want it to?

What if I could just flip back a page

And be a little girl again? 

Who is she? 

Where is she? 

Just when I start to understand

Life gets crazy once again.

What if life didn't go on?

What if I could just hit pause?

Bad times pass,

Sure, that's great, 

But what about the good times?

I want to stay forever

In my little world of ponies,

But I can't.

Life goes on.

Bad times pass.

Good times stick around.

I'll always have the memories.

They go on and on with life

As I make more every day.

It was never about the ponies,

And liking good music was never a sin.

It's about being me.

I'm not defined by dolls or skirts.

If I ever like shorter shirts or video games, 

I'll still be me.

Nothing important can really change.

Life goes on. 

I grow.

But I still have the same smile. 

I always will. 

The only thing that's changed? 

I've learned to try new things.

With sparkling pink magic 

And the same live cartoon faces

Playing numerous characters. 

It’s only for her 

I have to remind myself.

Then I glance down

At my bubblegum pink nails. 

They are chipped, 

Though I just painted them.

I see my dress 

With the unicorn,

The sequins, and

The pink tulle skirt; 

The dress that makes my older sister

Roll her eyes, 

Create an expression

Of disgust and surprise,

And beg me to change. 

I will not change. 

I admit it. 

I don't want to grow up.

I’m a child at heart.

We all know I still play

With my dolls, 

Unashamedly fixing their hair 

With oh so much care 

And picking out the very cutest

Of their old-fashioned dresses. 

I don't have to fully grow up.

I can still be 

A child at heart. 

We all know I'm mature

In the ways that count,

So what does it matter?

Do dolls do me harm?

They won't get in the way of life,

I promise,

So please

Just let me be

That child

At heart.