Emily Yang (11) | STAFF REPORTER
I understand true growing pains.
I have endured them to my core, attacking exactly where I am my weakest
As if they know me.
I am not speaking of the physical agony
Tearing at your bones and muscles at night as they stretch.
I actually find myself missing those growing pains
Wishing with everything I have to go back
To when I had the luxury of whimpering in my childhood bed
With my mother sitting by to rub my back.
I’m referring to the torment that is the end of adolescence.
The pain of having my childhood ripped away from me
As I sit here, helpless and unwilling.
Jagged edges are all I have left.
The worst part is watching the hourglass empty.
Such precious time, ticking away slowly but far too fast.
I feel like I should be drinking up every bit of it.
Yet I am stationary – frozen under pressure.
Why can’t I move?
Why does the air in my lungs feel like syrup?
Why is there a lump in my throat, a brick in my gut?
The sticky fingers of
Society
Rules
Expectations
Capitalism
Cast a relentless grip upon my limbs.
An inch from my nose is a door, and beyond it no one knows.
They say whatever is back there is different for everyone.
As the latch lifts, I hope what I get is good.
