It just wasn't it...

Just last week she found a box of old pictures,

of younger her, she was holding her hair,

that she’d just cut herself, showing it to the camera,

like her proudest achievement and older her wondered

when was it that she last gave herself some credit

without overthinking about what she’d done wrong,

just looking for issues, for problems, for flaws.

And you probably know of that cliche thought,

that when life gets just a little relentless,

that’s when we tend to raise our own bar,

our subconscious likes to question if we could have done better,

and it takes us right back to before, to the past:

As we start to wonder,

“What would younger me say, if she saw me right now?”

Would she be disappointed, or would she be proud?

And we look at the pictures of when we were just kids,

with fire in our eyes and determination in our steps.

Every thought exploded right into the world,

without filter or fear, or us questioning dreams,

that now, today, they keep us awake

throughout nights without sleep,

never once back then did we think:

Are we “okay” or “too little” or maybe “just barely enough”,

never once did we fear that we’d never find love.

So that’s why we go so far back to when we were kinder,

to ourselves and to others, and we lived by that

“I’ve got this” feeling, that naivety, and that timeless reminder

that we can do it! Because why wouldn’t we?

And when about ten years later, now, here come the doubts,

the anxiety rush and standing scared in a crowd.

But when we stand face to face with the girl in the picture,

I’m sure she’d be the first to say: Hey! You’re still growing, still learning, You’re still on your way!

And still she wonders, the paths she has chosen,

big choices she's made, the people she’s loved, hurt and forgotten, the ones that she misses dearly,

would this little girl have done it the same?

But then again, what does perfect even mean,

what are the right choices, when we’re all dealing with a life

that doesn’t always hold space for us and our voices,

and she was a kid, but we’re grown ups now.

We deal with credit card statements, a household and work,

comparisons and insecurities and feeling left out.

We deal with high expectations, got big shoes to fill,

never wanting to age and paying the bills.

We know about the world, the good and the bad,

we know we know nothing, feel guilty and hurt.

We have lost and gained and then lost it again,

we keep circling back to pain and regret.

We’ve been wronged and probably have done so to others ourselves,

and we live with that anger, and shame and that we felt.

We laugh and we cry and we build our new world

and then we take what we’ve got and we think of that girl.

The world that she dreamed off, it was built on the clouds,

though it wasn’t real, it was brave, it was loud.

It had no expectations to fill, none but her own,

so when did it happen, that she forgot about those…

It was when others started staring when she was wearing those tights

with the red polka dots, they said: Hey, maybe give it a try

and fit in for once. Don’t you want to be part of the impressive crowd?

And yes she did, because who doesn’t want to impress,

who doesn’t want to fit in, if that’s what gets you the best?

And all of a sudden the norms that society set,

were the new bench mark she was trying to get.

So she started shaping herself and bending her dreams,

surely one day she’d love this new reality

and she’d know who she can be in this world, once she’d understand

that the more we adjust the more jobs we can land.

And when it all got too much, too much shaping and shifting

and molding herself in this surface level system,

that’s when she came to a full stop, dropped out of the mold

and she found that picture of herself at 8 years old.

After crying a little of regret and self-pity,

she swears she could hear herself speak in the picture:

How did you know that you didn’t like bangs,

you cut them, and realised you weren’t a fan,

and how did you learn of your passion for words,

you failed with numbers, though you practised till it hurt,

you tried and you failed and you tried it again,

and eventually you realised you just weren’t a fan.

And then it was the fantasy stories that captured your heart

that showed you your talents are in the arts,

so why do you cry when all that you did was give life a try and realising

it just wasn’t it?

Nobody will stop you from trying again,

all they can do is tell you, you can’t.

But now that you’ve already noticed they’re wrong

don’t ever let them tell you who you are again.