Change

Change

In the familiar room the walls feel near,
The clock keeps time in measured air,
Old trophies tilt their quiet heads,
And ask me softly to remain there.

The future knocks with padded hands,
I press my back against the side;
My hands fold maps of yesterday,
And feel the floor become a tide.

A breath comes short and thin,
A doubt sits by my side,
A list of what could break,
A wish to stay inside.

Months gather like unposted cards,
Their corners crease from days of yore,
Change waits quiet at the landing,
A threshold I have not crossed before.

I take one step that fits today,
Another breath decides to stay,
The future drops its borrowed fangs,
I meet it and I do not sway.

Childhood does not have to burn,
It folds itself into my core;
I carry it like hidden light
To see what all these new rooms are for.

Change is not the storm I feared,
It is the wind my lungs implore;
Growing up is learning this:
To open, breathe, and ask for more.

~ Penned by Anaaya Angrish