I’m the smart one,
They always say.
But I can’t spell February
Without whispering it under my breath.
It takes me five minutes.
To spell a word
And a whole day
to spell out what I need.

I don’t know how to do my taxes.
But I know how to call the pharmacy.
I know how to sit beside red,
Old and stubborn,
And blue,
Young and breaking.
I know how to translate pain
Into prescriptions,
How to smile when I want to scream
Into a pillowcase.

I’m only 21.

I want to kiss someone
because I like them,
Not because I’m running out of time.
I want to be drunk in a parking lot,
Laughing about nothing.
I want to have a boyfriend
And forget to text him back.
I want to dye my hair and regret it.

But they need me.

They say they’re fine—
But it’s 102 degrees inside
And I’m sticking to the floor.
If I stop moving,
I might melt.
I might disappear.

There’s only one of me.

I was supposed to be the baby.
Now I baby everyone else.
I rock the house to sleep
With grocery lists and gas bills.
No lullabies, just stopping an argument
No cartoons, just stopping a meltdown

I want
A life where I can be
Irresponsible.
Where I can be loud,
Messy, wrong.
Where I don’t have to be
Strong
To be loved.

I want a life that doesn’t only begin
After everyone else’s ends.