13

I wrote this poem for my daughter when she was thirteen. I’ve been going through some old notebooks and all of the poetry, journaling, and stories I’ve written over many years. It was such a tender, painful age. It was really hard on her. I am happy to report she is turning 29 soon and has bloomed into a super cool woman. I am so grateful I get to be Mom to all of my girls.

By: JANA GREENE

She sees herself in dimmest light,

all shadows that she doesn’t like,

the other kids make her feel small,

predicting every trip and fall.

She feels alone in a mass of crowd,

and tries to hind behind a shroud

of bravery lest she express her mind,

afraid of what she herself will find.

She sees herself as in the dark,

insecurities seeming stark

contrast to all those around.

So, feeling small, she makes no sound.

She got the memo that life’s unfair,

that “perfect girls” with flaxen hair

and flawless looks, and stellar grades,

sometimes feel the very same.

Those walls she’s built so she can hide

behind as if they’re set in stone

Only like to lie to her,

she isn’t falling, and she’s not alone.

Her eyes are knowing but can’t yet see

all the things she means to me.

For when her growing-up is through,

her big brown eyes will see it, too.

One day she be comfortable in her own skin,

and will never have to be 13 again.