Growing Up
In fourth grade
my classmates thought I was a very good person
and wrote letters to the writers
of the newspaper our teacher
made us read
telling them
what a good person
I was.
(They wrote a lot
about the things I did
to help strangers
and about how I’ve made
their mothers cry and
want to hug me.
They didn’t write about
how I looked at
Carly’s test
one time.)
In fifth grade,
the boys
liked to talk about
my chest.
Apparently
I had melons
and the other girls
had grapes.
(I thought this analogy was dumb
and I slapped Trevor in the face,
and people stopped writing letters
about what a good person I am
but didn’t stop
talking about my chest.)
In sixth grade,
my new friends
thought I looked very nice
in my neon pink skinny jeans,
and their mothers
thought
I was a very good influence.
(but I was trying to be like them,
so their mothers
made me feel
like I wasn’t quite
so cool.)
In seventh grade
my new friends
were calling me things
very far away from a good person
and my old friends
didn’t like being second best,
so I became friends
with teachers
and music.
(Someday
I will learn
how this works)
In eighth grade
I almost lost
everything.
(I thought
it would teach me
how to be
as independent
as I told people I was)
I am looking
at my childhood
and trying
to find
the part
where I
grew.
