19

I live in a state of fear that’s profound —

Feeling different even amongst the different;

That I’m nowhere near “special”

That “gifted” is for those who lost mothers and persevered;

Reserved for the children who dream of building rockets

And not for the 19 year old girl aged beyond her prodigious years —

Hoping to just build herself

The times of “why?” and “how come?”

Are quickly replaced with “when?” and “how long?”

The weeks filled with play soon become

Open reservations for outside obligations

I’m afraid of the questions I know answers to

And of the time-old phrase,

“ What is it that you do?”

I’ll never travel the universe

Or run an election campaign

What I do offer is

My 19 year old body

That comes with the dreams in my brain