Older Than I Am

I was good at keeping lists,

good at being good.

Learned to read the weather in people

long before I understood.

There were nights I counted worries

instead of counting sheep,

mornings came too early

for the secrets I would keep.

.

They said I was wise for my years,

but wisdom just means

you’ve swallowed your tears.

.

I’m older than I am,

grew up too fast, too soon.

Packed up my childhood,

left it by the moon.

I’m steady, I’m careful,

I do what I can —

but I’m older,

older than I am.

.

I thought I’d be the kind of girl

who runs when she can’t stand still,

laughs too loud in the pouring rain,

forgets to pay the bills.

But I learned too soon the price

of falling out of line,

so I color inside the boxes now

and tell myself I’m fine.

.

And sometimes I swear I hear

a voice from long ago,

a shadow in the window

whispering, come on, let’s go.

.

I’m older than I am,

grew up too fast, too soon.

Packed up my childhood,

left it by the moon.

I’m steady, I’m careful,

I do what I can —

but I’m older,

older than I am.

.

There’s a quiet kind of missing

that never makes a sound,

the life I might’ve lived

if I’d ever slowed down.

And when the night feels heavy

and I’ve finally had enough —

I tell myself stories

about a boy who never grew up.

.

I’m older than I am,

but I’m trying to understand —

how to loosen my grip

on all that I’ve planned.

Maybe growing up

is learning to bend —

I’m older than I am,

but I’m not at the end.