Unpredictably 
Born a little babe, predictably rosy and round and small as a Skittle, 
Born grasping for my mother's fingers — grasping for so little. 
Walking in a year or so, reaching for the arms that cradle me, 
Thinking of my next snack... 
and when I can watch that mouse named Mickey. 
Fast forward to the ripe old age of five — ambitious and ecstatic, 
Starting school for a baker's dozen, not yet learning what it is to be pragmatic. 
Fifth year in and it's coming to an end, 
Tall enough to reach the cookie jar, 
but not enough to care. 
Entering the sixth... 
The end of K–12 seems so far, and good grades aren't that rare. 
In the middle of middle school, 
thinking about my acne — 
and mostly my grades. 
When did I get this old? 
Does this mean no more playing tag, or pool mermaids? 
Ninth grade — a new pond. 
The pressure for success is definitely on. 
Reaching for the big fat A's, 
the amount of work alone is making me yawn. 
Tenth grade. 
Life feels weirdly different — 
time is moving so foreignly fast. 
All of a sudden, 
two years more doesn't feel that long — 
Soon I'll have my own vote to cast. 
Eleventh grade pounces on me from the back — 
I didn't see the college applications coming. 
Hardest year of work in my sixteen years of life. 
If college doesn't work out... maybe I'll do plumbing. 
Twelfth grade is right around the corner... 
but I'm too scared to peek. 
Adulthood is poking me on the shoulder. 
Life went from reaching for the monkey bars, 
to reaching for brochures and applications. 
Time is like a downhill-accelerating boulder. 
Soon I'll be an adult — 
no longer rosy or round or small as a Skittle. 
I'll be reaching for taxes 
and thinking of student debt that isn't so little. 
I'll think of the money I can save 
with the thirty dollars in my bank account... 
but still splurge 
under the false pretense that I can further spread thin that amount. 
Life can be — and is already — so foreign. 
And we're all living for the first time. 
But time is terrifyingly familiar, 
and fast, 
and furious, 
in a way that should be a crime. 
For the first time in forever — 
or seventeen-ish years — 
I know how life truly steers: 
Unpredictably.