Growth is an uncomfortable island and
I wish to sail back to my soft, downy comfort zone.
I’m tired of looking for wisdom in scraped knees
and silver lining in abandoned dreams.
I’m weary of being plucked from a restful slumber
and told to soldier on with no end in sight.
The purpose of pain keeps falling into my lap,
but my fingers have gone numb untangling it.
I long, for so long,
for things to be easy,
For life to measure my height
and eventually find it right.
Really, I long, simply,
for someone to say:
you’re finally here.