Reflecting on my Early Twenties

I don't like getting older.

I'm not getting colder.

Crying comes more easily,

like a dripping pipe in my chest.

I thought I would dry and dust,

but it's wet. Polished. Pounded.

like a hammered piece of sterling silver.

.

The rain makes me sad these days.

I can't remember the storm that changed

my perception of gray skies and dark clouds;

maybe I've always felt this way.

Believed my own lies for a while,

only to stare out a double-paned window

and realize.

I don't like it very much at all.

.

My commitment used to be a stronghold

but now I know how weak it is

under shaking self-preservation.

Would I really die for anything?

Anything at all?

My throat is tight, uneasy.

I don't know myself well enough to say.

Does that make me a coward?

Or just a girl?

.

When I was young,

I thought I knew myself better than anyone else

knew themselves.

What a folly. What a silly concept. What a girl.

Yellow to aquamarine to orange to sky blue to vivid pink to lavender.

Guess I'm a woman now.

I never expected to learn so much about myself.

Is it even true?

.

What makes me myself? How do I know?

Beliefs, thoughts, actions

Deep set, conflicting, clumsy

Have I failed at being myself?

Or am I just more true than ever?

.

Maybe I've always struggled to cry but can't stop when I do.

Maybe I've never been cold and dry but gentle in mood.

Maybe I've always liked the blue of the sky over gray.

Maybe my commitment holds fast in a different place.

.

Maybe I'm just getting to know myself again.

An older me, a different me.

A person who will always come to be.

I think I'm okay with that, with her.

With me.