Paper-Thin Composure

I swear, I never really grew up,

I just got taller,

learned how to hide the shaking in my voice

and call it composure.

I still get scared of being left out,

still overthink what I said two days ago,

still stare at the ceiling some nights

wishing someone would tuck me in,

tell me I did enough for the day.

I walk around in this adult body,

doing adult things, 

signing forms, paying bills,

pretending I know what I’m doing.

But under all that,

there’s still a kid who wants to laugh too loud,

cry without shame,

and run just because the wind feels good.

I miss being comforted without needing a reason.

Now it’s just “you’ll be fine”

and “that’s life.”

But I don’t always feel fine,

and life isn’t always kind.

Sometimes I still catch glimpses of that kid in the mirror,

messy hair, curious eyes,

heart too soft for this world.

And when I do,

I try to smile at her.

Whisper, “I see you.

You made it this far.”

Even if the world thinks I’m grown,

I know the truth,

I’m still learning how to be.

-dmnd