Tomorrow Never Came

Ten.

home alone, sister taken to the hospital, darkness, overdose

Twelve.

depression, left alone, left behind, screaming, silence

Fourteen.

i lost what was mine, children, taken away, given to us, i grew up

Fifteen.

the world asks too much, i gave away too much, everything is too much

Sixteen.

Are you her mother? they ask.

no

well,

almost

my crown is too heavy for me

My age doesn’t feel right on my tongue, like an old favorite pair of pants the don’t fit quite the same, that you wish you could get rid of, but always ends up sticking around

My age is like that bad test score that people keep asking you about, that you know doesn’t define you but still makes you shift on your feet when you talk about it

My age is like that one flaw that makes you self-conscious, that you sometimes forget you have, that you wish people wouldn’t bring up because you know you’ll have to smile uncomfortably and

pretend it

doesn’t

bother you

my age really is just a number

because it was not the excitement of moving out or the magic of the first love or the monotony of taxes or the fear of college

that ushered me across that threshold of adulthood,

it was the

paralyzing depression and the blinding anger and the breathtaking pain and the overwhelming bleakness

that shoved me into that oblivion, it was the

never-ending responsibility and the overflowing rage and the impossible grief and the intolerable loneliness

that was so heavy that i started to crumple under the weight, it was the

depression and responsibility and anger and rage and pain and grief and bleakness and loneliness that

somehow

blinked

first

you don’t become an adult overnight, they say with a laugh,

but i did

Every day when i woke up, I told myself

today you have to be an adult.

Tomorrow you can be a kid again,

Tomorrow will be easier, if

today you are an adult, if

today you are responsible, if

today you are patient, if

today you keep going,

and then Tomorrow…

but somehow

Tomorrow

never

came