Perhaps you never heard
My cries, every night after
You and my mother split up.
They’d slip down my face
And litter my pillow,
A watery embrace was what sleep
Had become. I was only eleven,
A child in every way,
And yet I’d suffered more
In one day than I had
In a decade.
It made me grow,
Faster than I should have.
It made me wiser than my years,
For though I am now nearly twenty
I’ve cried enough tears and felt
Enough anguish to be nearly sixty.
How I wish I were younger
And more carefree. Oh how I wish
I had had the chance to find out
What it meant to be me.