Fifteen

I woke up a little earlier than usual today.
It was probably the axiety; I'm fifteen now, after all.
But it feels strange.
It's like, I've woken up for the first time in my life.

It's not just another day. It's another year.
15 years, to be exact.

When you're a child, you have these reflects, y'know?
Like, when someone says "skinned knees", you say, "kiss it".
When someone says "boys", you say, "cooties".
And when you don't get what you want,
You throw a fit until you finally do.

But now...
Now, it's different.
When you scrape that knee,
There's no one there watching you.
You have to get up and keep on moving, or you'll be left behind.
Whether you're still bleeding or not doesn't make a difference to anyone.

And then, out of no where,
You're holding hands with a cootie infestation.
You're feeling those butterflies finally burst.
And you're finally learning that "forever" is just a word.

And when you want something
As in you want it so bad that you'd die for it...
It doesn't matter how much you kick and scream.
You're still not going to get it.

Then the next morning, you wake up.
You're hoping, just hoping, that today will be different.
You're hoping that you can be eight again.
Because then all that you'd need to heal a wound...
Is a Band-Aid.
A simple, tan-coloured, cotton padded Band-Aid.
But I guess things just aren't that simple anymore.

I'm fifteen now.
I'm not a child anymore.
I'm an adult.
And when I go to sleep tonight, I'll cry.
I'll cry because fifteen isn't an end to life.
It's a new beginning.

And that's what scares me the most.