The poem that will always be under construction

There is still so much growing up to do.

Like learning how not to be disappointed
By my handwriting on the first page
Of a brand new diary.

And loving myself when a new pimple
Pops up on the nose (maybe the pimple too)
And how the hair gets all messy after sleep.

Looking inside to find the courage to finally
Empathize with the people I love too much
But am often reckless with.

Like how to express feelings for which
There are no right words, and to say the right
words when there are no feelings at all.
 
To become friends with the shadow that lurks
Behind, scaring and warning me of who I am
And what I could become.

Learn how to let a word seep into my bones
And let it run through my nerves and veins
Without feeling the need to tattoo it.
 
And how not to judge the first bencher
Sitting and making notes in a boring class,
Asking questions as I stare at her from far behind.
 
There is still so much growing up to do
Before the dust rises again and I begin to forget
All that I had learnt when I was growing up.