Grown

When I was five I used to think,

What is it to be grown?

To have long hair?

To sit and stare?

To have a proper tone?

O what is it to be grown?

When I was eight and in 3rd grade,

I used to wonder so,

What is it to be grown?

To talk just right?

To move with pride?

To have the proper curves?

Oh, what is it to be grown?

When I turned eleven,

I sat and stared at one I used to know,

And used to think to myself,

What is it to be grown?

To be fair?

Mature in airs?

To talk your best?

To be properly dressed?

Oh, what is it to be grown?

When I was thirteen,

I fell in love,

with one I used to know.

We’d sit and stare,

Put on airs,

Talk just so,

and would wear the fanciest clothes.

Yet still I would think,

What is it to be grown?

Now I am twenty,

And now I know,

What it is to be grown.

To be grown is to be serious,

In everything you do.

To be grown is to be heartbroken,

More times than you can count.

To be grown is to stop dreaming,

To never ask why.

To be grown is to be silent,

And accept the world as it passes by.