“Too Young to Be Grown”

I packed my own lunch at five years old Learned to read moods like weather reports Tiptoed through tantrums not my own While they played house with broken parts They called it parenting, I called it chaos Late nights filled with slammed doors and silence I held their secrets like bedtime stories And wore their guilt like hand-me-downs I was the calm in their storm The logic in their mess The apology they never gave The love they forgot to express They were children with children Still chasing dreams they never caught And I was the anchor, the fixer, the sponge Soaking up lessons they never taught I missed recess for responsibility Skipped innocence for insight Grew roots in rocky soil And bloomed in spite of the night But I’m not bitter—I’m blooming Not broken—I’m bold I carry wisdom they never earned And a heart they couldn’t hold