Thursday, July 9, 2015

Yes, That's Her

The twenty-one years and over, 
But the twenty-one years young. 
The twenty-one years of existing and breathing,
In this temporary residence that we are living.

Yes, that's her.

How about we trace it back from the beginning,
Right in the middle of the nineties, let's settle there,
Inside the womb of a woman where a child was kicking,
Already preparing to smell the breath of fresh air.

She's out in the fourth of July at ten in the morning,
Sending cries but attracting smiles to strangers like magnets
Her mother, twenty-four years young and blooming,
Cradles the baby who is snuggling under white blankets.

Yes, that's her.

She's already three, so innocent as a rose.
Smiling and frolicking under the the warmth of the sun,
Looking up as it hits her face and glows.
The energy of the light filling her as she continues to run.

Now she's blowing birthday candles that are on display,
Earning claps from her friends and family.
She just turned seven, the magical and lucky number they say,
Oh, what a sight to see the girl looking happy.

Yes, that's her.

Around ten, eleven, one of the shyest girls in school,
She's no social butterfly, just a student getting by.
Awkward and timid, tame and uncool,
She bows down her head, asking herself why.

Now we fast forward at the age of thirteen,
Still getting the hang of the preteen world,
Exploring it quietly, trying not to make a scene,
But curious and excited at stories unheard.

Yes, that's her.

 She's off to college as if yesterday was just a blink long,
Somehow dazed but quite amazed of people her age and so,
In a place that's new to her, what could go wrong?
At a bird's eye view, all she sees are opportunities below.

She thought it was easy, but the fun was only in the beginning,
Overwhelmed by the culture she has submerged herself with.
She can't wait to get out, inside her head she's wishing
To break free, since everything is not what it seems.

Yes, that's her.

With all the mistrustful eyes and unfiltered mouths,
She's about to trek the wilderness again she calls the world,
Reminds herself to grow a backbone, get rid of all the doubts,
To accept everything that will be thrown and hurled.

Now I'm twenty-one years and over,
But I'm twenty-one years young. 
I'm twenty-one years of existing and breathing,
In this temporary residence that we are living.

Yes, that's me.

Photo Credit: Favim

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