Unlike the popular movies
And the Shakespearean plays
Growing up doesn’t happen in a trice
It doesn’t give you wings
Or make you fly
It’s not a magic number that you reach
That ends sweet childhood
And ushers in ugly adulthood
But rather a phase, a pattern
A series of life-changing events
It happens gradually
As it’s vines slowly encircle your ankles
And wrap around your torso
Strangling you
Without you even knowing
It’s not one milestone
Of moving out
Or getting married
Or giving birth
Or losing a parent
But instead a collection
Of little changes
And big decisions
That ripple all around you
For years to come
It’s a slow and simmering realisation
Of the power you hold
And responsibility you have
Over your own actions
To affect lives all around you
It doesn’t mean that you’ve plundered
The mysterious depths of the universe
Or even the complexities within yourself
It just means that
You’re better at hiding it
It is always a nostalgia
And a desperate longing
For a simpler time
A sweet yesterday
And a paradise lost.