Thoughts of an almost-legal adult:

At twenty-one years of age, I know what it means to be loved.

I know what it means to come home to a family,

and I know what it means to leave.

I know what it means to be a frequent flyer

but I have no backyard tree to come home to,

no tire swing in the garden,

no wall with my height annually marked.

I know what it means to pay my own rent,

I know what it means to upkeep an apartment,

but I don't understand just barely getting by

because I know what it means to have a safety net at all times.

I know how to order textbooks,

but I've yet to learn to sell them back again.

I know what it means to care about a grade

but I don't know what it means to not have an education.

I don't know how to count my blessings,

but I do know how to take things for granted.

At twenty-one years of age, I know how to make friends,

but I'm learning how to keep them.

I don't know what relationships look like,

but my childhood friends are finding spouses.

I don't know what it means to be desperate,

I don't know how to ask for help,

I don't know what it means to be broken and on my knees,

but I'm learning. Oh, how I'm learning.

At twenty-one years of age, I can't identify with the loss others unjustly experience,

but I know how to listen and I know how to care.

Yet I don't know how to talk, and I can't look inside.

I know how to follow and I know how to lead,

I know how to give up and I know how to leave.

What I'm learning most now is how to stay put

and how to stay grounded no matter how long;

to keep my heels dug in the mud and not to let up

even when it goes against my self-preservation methods.