not just two.
two and a half,
because the half matters when you’re little.
but i’m too young to understand why Mammy
rubs this coolness on my chest,
how it’ll hurt a little less
if I just give it a chance.
so, i’m two.
not too small to speak
but too young to be heard.
i cry when my Mam tries
my mouth open, medicine in
they hear i don’t want it,
yet i’m still too little for them to listen.
but now, I’m not just two.
but people still say I’m ‘too.’
too young for friday nights in, even if going outside isn’t my thing
too old for pokémon, unless it’s pokémon go – that’s the exception
too much of a girl to deserve equal body rights
and too much of a woman to support feminism
without being called a misandrist
and, I’m still not heard
but I can’t put it down to age anymore
I was too young, but I grew
then too quiet, so I started to shout
then too loud, so I learned to speak
but next I was too bossy (I wasn’t really)
so I began to just think
and breathe in my own thoughts
and let them go like CO2
the unwanted byproduct of being too alive.