When I was but a wee child, <br />two or three or more, <br />I dreamed that I could fly like a butterfly. <br />Over the mountains, <br />on wings of adventure <br />I sought out branches of laurel <br />and like a fairy, <br />I crowned my head with a ring of joy. <br /> <br />High above, when the clouds <br />up in the sky began to darken, began to cry, <br />I wished, at ten or so, that I was as small <br />as a mouse, so that I could scamper <br />into the rhubarb patch <br />and hide beneath their umbrella-like leaves, <br />munching on their juicy red stems, <br />making mouse-like noises. <br /> <br />Early in my teens, <br />when I’d grown into a young girl <br />I wanted to pass <br />for twenty-two, or twenty-three. <br />Like bubbles in champagne, <br />I dreamed of tickling my fancy, buying new clothes, <br />and I started acting like I knew <br />far more than I did. <br /> <br />When I grew up, <br />had children of my own, I dreaded birthdays, <br />wished that I was younger, <br />though, in truth, I didn’t want <br />to go through it all again. Still I had <br />no doubts about my husband nor my children, <br />just that none of the mirrors <br />had any saving grace. <br /> <br />Having reached a certain age, <br />wiser and more sure of myself, <br />no longer do I wish for, covet, or dream <br />about things that once held positions of regret. <br />The person that I am today <br />is comprised of all the things I’ve done and <br />seen and been. Is there anyone who can say <br />they have such a friend?<br /><br />Jackie Allen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-what-i-am-30/
