23

When I was a kid
I thought I ran so fast that if I ran just a little faster I would fly,
I decided my superhero name would be Spaztic Fantastic,
I jumped off the swing at the high part of the arch and I knew I would land on my feet,
And I did.
I didn’t need coffee, the sunlight brought my energy tsunami,
I didn’t know what headaches felt like, and
I secretly loved it when my brother paid attention to me, even to tease.
I thought coffee and wine were gross,
Boys were almost as gross,
And I knew I was the best at sports and other people would figure it out soon enough,
And they did.
I couldn’t sit still, paying attention to math was pure torture and the minutes seemed to go backwards just to spite me,
Unless it was recess.
When I was a kid I knew I was a vampire, and an Animorph, and probably a mermaid even though I couldn’t swim,
And as a kid I learned to love music and dance and art and the written word.
I miss my kid self.
But I like me now, just as much. Maybe even a little more, because I can look back on my life and say,
“You lucky chick, you.”