That Kid

That kid, you know the one, who always clapped half a second after everyone else.

That kid, you know the one, who went left when everyone else when right.

That kid who grew a bit, but was always short. Awkwardly so. Not short enough to be cute, just short enough that trousers were always too long, skirts on the knee not above.

That girl who got a bit older and wanted to wear the right clothes, but always got the shade a bit off, the fit a bit awkward.

Awkward covers it. Shy, then loud at the moment when everyone went quiet. Quiet, then found a voice but said the wrong thing. She thought about it too hard and too long. Maybe you know her. Maybe you met him.

He was that one who was so scared of missing out he barely did anything. She was desperate to be in, desperate to get it right. Maybe you were her. Maybe you were him.

That kid always grows up. That kid hits 21, 30, beyond. But she’ll always be that kid. Out of step at fitness class, a disaster on the dance floor, often awkward, still acutely aware of her average height and questionable clothes. Only now she’s ok with it, now she knows that the people who love her do so inspite of these things,  because of these things. Yeah that kid became that woman. And today, anyway, she’s just fine with that. 


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