I'm still on the playground.

I'm a baby, I'm still a child; inside.
I don't want to grow up, please don't make me.
My head hurts when I think of having to make big decisions.
It's the truth, I don't care what you think of me for it.
I'm scared.
Can't someone else make up my mind?
Or give me select options to pick from?
I don't feel sixteen, don't feel old enough to be sixteen.
An age every little girl can't wait to reach.
But I still love swinging, it's where I find peace.
I still love my stuffies.
I'm still curious and innocent.
I still love my big pink flowers on my blue walls.
And I'm sixteen?

I hate change.
The idea of leaving the school system I'm used to,
Or the people I've grown up with? Since kindergarten?
Sure, it's an experience, something everyone does.
But I don't care.
I don't want to.
But that won't stop anything.
Time is moving fast, to fast for me.
To fast for any adjustments.

I hate the effort that I have to put out.
Get up early in summer.
Go to work.
Babysit, and be a hard ass because I can't handle it.
I'm not a hard ass, in the least. Not really.
Take more criticisms because I can handle it. Apparently.
Listen to adults judge me and my peers; old enough to have an opinion,
Not old enough to speak it.
Take exams, I hate exams.
Try, so hard, to please everybody, even though I can't.
Eat right and work hard, or I can't wear that damn tank top.
And you don't get a break just because you hurt your foot.
Or you are sick.
Do more chores then ever, because all of a sudden there is someone to compete with.
Worry.
Cry.
Think, too much.

Jeezze, I sound like a baby. But that's how I feel. Deal with it, please.