If you keep clinging to the version of who I used to be.
They took pictures of my essence,
and held it dearly to their vessels,
Expecting tomorrow to hold the same me,
But the photo’s been taken.
The moment has dried.
I’m only what the polaroid has captured inside.
I’ve developed enough, but they couldn’t see it.
They’re only interested in who I used to be.
For me, it is jarring to hold onto the past me
For I’ve met death early, and its forgiveness for my naivety was a true sign of mercy.
No one ever stays here,
They leave their bodies for good.
But I’m still alive, and somehow deeply misunderstood.
They won’t remember the old me anymore, because my personality has changed; maybe they will now see that I have grown, and those qualities have been buried.
I am not a little kid anymore, making tired mistakes.
I am an adult now, realizing the stakes.
I am being me,
I am having fun,
I am flying at five thousand miles of freedom.
They might not have been anticipating a change, but I have, you see.
I am aware of the real me, and those who come after will learn about me too
If I give them the chance to see all of me.
They will never become familiar with me if they keep clinging to the faded and greyed photo.
I encourage them to reflect on what version of me they are clinging to today, as I am no longer the girl they want me to be.
Spoken Thoughts 
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