Twelve, such a sticky time

Caught between the what has been and the what will be

So much a child, yet so much grown

Growing into an amazing you

Unsure of yourself in so many ways

Finding beauty in the discovery

Pasting bandaids over the wounds of immaturity

So much is expected of you

Probably unfair, that.

After all, twelve is still just twelve

And I really don’t want it to be twenty

Not yet

Twenty will come all too soon

Twelve