Sixteen Years, Trying to Get into the Swing of Things

When I was five, I pulled myself up on swing sets too high for me,
Coiled my fingers around the chains,
Paddled my feet wildly,
And felt the thrill in my chest.
I kicked hard enough to feel like I was flying.

When I was twelve, I stood on the seat,
Wound the chains tight,
Watched people pass by,
And pushed off recklessly.
I threw myself into the air,
Tore free from the chains,
Dismounted the swing,
And withstood the impact.

When I was thirteen, I was unstoppable,
Invincible, untouchable,
Even as I kissed the grass with torn knees,
I was an individual.
I covered my ears to the metal's screeching protest,
Subverted warnings of my fall,
And blocked out anyone who came to my rescue.

When I was sixteen, I fixed the old swing set,
Sat on the seat, weighed down by fallen hopes and broken dreams.
I held my fears close,
Eluding any fall.
Lest the swing be too fragile,
I lay on the grass and watched the unadorned stars.
The stars were distant,
But the grass was right there,
Messed up everywhere,
Just like me.