Unapologetically Me. Here lies a poem I wrote about being me
The story
Growing up as a Black girl, you never know what the future holds. You learn fast. Too fast. Drugs, alcohol, sex— before I even knew my times tables, I knew what the world was about. The "birds and the bees" talk? Didn’t need it. By the time I was born, I already had four older siblings. The oldest? grown. twenty four , twenty five— a whole life ahead, while mine was just beginning. Seven years later— I’m no longer the youngest. Now I’m the oldest. Fourteen years later— I’m in the middle, but still the oldest. A split family teaches you choices you were never supposed to make. My mother has feelings. My father has feelings. My stepmother has feelings. But what about mine? How do you think I felt when I realized I was the crack in their foundation? That my mother’s pregnancy shattered my father and stepmother’s family? That my father had four kids before I even existed? That his arm carried their names in ink, but when I asked to be added, he told me no—because of the “pain.” Pain? You wanna talk about pain? I was cheated on, manipulated—over and over, by the same person. And I let them. I was dumb. I almost got into fights over people I didn’t even want. Because I was supposed to. Because I was taught that disrespect had to be answered. I hit puberty early, 5th grade. First time I got catcalled? Eleven. Let that sink in— Eleven. At the store with my older sister, a grown man called out to us. She was in her 20s— but he meant both of us. My body grew before I was ready, so men saw a woman where a child stood. By middle school, the world was dying from COVID, but I was already grieving the childhood I never had. How many times have I been called beautiful by someone who shouldn’t even be looking? How many times have I been told— "You can’t wear that." Because my chest was bigger. Because men were coming over. Because my mother was afraid. Not for them. For me. Now I’m a freshman, but people think I’m older. I’m used to it. On some level, it’s a compliment— on every other, it’s not. It just means I never got time to be a kid. So yeah— when I do something that seems childish, that’s little me fighting to exist. When I scream over dumb things, when I get excited like I’m five again— that’s Nyana. That’s the kid in me, the one I refuse to let die. And when they stare— I stare back. Because the version of me you see, that’s the one you want to box, the one you want to label. But I’m so much more than the skin they see, than the years they’ve added on me. I'm the kid who never got to be a kid. They want me to act my age? What’s my age? When I’m a reflection of everyone’s expectations and not my own truth? I never got the luxury of slowing down, of making mistakes without the weight of judgment. Never had the time to just be. Just to be young. Just to be free. And how do you think I feel growing up in a world where men have “weird relationships” with their girl “best friends”? It’s just weird. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Not when my own father once said he would "hit" if his gave him a chance. I saw my first "film" at seven— not on purpose, but because I wanted to be like every other kid. Wanted to watch YouTube, wanted to laugh at the same jokes, wanted to feel like I belonged. But the things I saw? They weren’t for me. Not for a seven-year-old who still needed to feel safe in their own room. I didn’t know what to do with what I saw. Didn’t know how to unsee it. But I learned, fast. Just like I learned in fourth grade that sleepovers weren’t what they were on TV. That not every mother is a mother first. That sometimes, a mother wants to be a friend, and when that happens, you become the collateral damage. She let her daughter do things no child should do, and I was there, forced into it, too young to understand, too scared to say no. And when I got in trouble for it, when I told my mother it wasn’t my fault, guess who still got in trouble? Guess who didn’t.
So yeah, when I laugh too loud, when I hold on to the simple things— that’s me reaching for the years they took. I’m reclaiming what’s mine— the innocence I was denied, the joy I never got to wear. And if that makes you uncomfortable, I don’t care. Because after all this time, I owe it to myself to just be. To be me.
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Points of view
wow, your story really hit home 💔 it's so heartbreaking how early you had to grow up, and the stuff you dealt with just isn't right. i mean, getting catcalled at 11? that's insane. honestly, society can be such a mess sometimes. it's like they don't even think about how this stuff affects kids. and your own dad not wanting to add your name because of the “pain” of a tattoo? i mean, seriously? 🤔 it sounds like you've had to carry a lot on your shoulders from a really young age. i'm just wondering, how do you handle finding joy now, after all that you've been through? keep reclaiming what’s yours, though, you totally deserve it. ✨
Thank you for reading my story. I wanted to share that young children also experience hardships. As for how I handle happiness now, since I’m still in high school, I use school as an escape when I’m going through difficult times. I have many supportive people in my life who help me, and I’ve learned various coping mechanisms, such as baking and making lemonade. I appreciate you taking the time to read my story. I know it’s long, but I value your support. ❤️❤️❤️
i totally get where you're coming from, life can throw some heavy stuff our way. your story about growing up too fast hits hard. i've seen folks around me go through similar things, and it can really mess with your head. 😟 the bit about being catcalled at 11 is just messed up—people need to seriously get a grip. but when you mention feeling like the "crack in their foundation," i'm curious, have you found ways to mend those feelings over time? it's wild how much responsibility seems to fall on the kids in these situations. what keeps you pushing forward despite all the challenges?
Hi! Thank you for taking the time to read. Regarding your question about how I cope with these feelings, honestly, over time, I’ve come to realize that they are still a part of my family. My stepmother loves me unconditionally, and it can be challenging for me to feel apart from them. Recently, I’ve found that maintaining a certain distance is helpful for me. I only see my dad’s side (my siblings and stepmother) about once or twice a week, if not at all. However, once school starts back up, I’ll be seeing them more often since I attend school with my dad for better education. On weekends and summers, I tend to keep my distance to protect my peace. Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope my explanation was clear.
sounds like a rough upbringing, but come on, who doesn't have family drama? 🤷♂️ you mention being "the crack in their foundation," but isn't it a bit much blaming yourself for adult actions? your story's got intensity, but life's not just about what happened to you. plenty of people have been through tough times and still manage to make something of themselves. maybe it’s time to focus on what you can do, instead of what was done to you. ever thought about how you can use all this to fuel your growth?
Yes, of course everyone has family drama, but my poem was written to show how it affected me. I could’ve included other parts to reflect how my family felt, but that simply wasn’t my goal. As for your comment about using it to fuel myself
, I already am, and I continue to. I’m still in my teenage years, but I’m on track to be the first in my family to go to college. I’m also currently working to earn my associate’s degree before I graduate high school.
While I understand you might’ve meant well, I personally found your response a bit disrespectful. I didn’t write this to get pity I wrote it to show that sometimes, parents’ actions have real consequences for their children.If you didn’t mean it in a harmful way, then I apologize if my response seems too sharp but I felt the need to say that.
Your story is certainly poignant and highlights the realities faced by many; however, I question the extent to which you attribute your circumstances solely to external factors. While the narrative about growing up too fast is relatable and valid, one might consider exploring how personal agency can play a role in overcoming such adversity; was there a specific turning point that propelled you toward reclaiming your sense of self?
Thank you for engaging with my story. I get what you’re saying about personal agency. Trust me, I’m fully aware that growth isn’t a neat, one-time event. It’s messy, it’s ongoing, and yeah, sometimes it feels like a million little moments stacked on top of each other. But let’s be real: my poem isn’t about ignoring the impact of my circumstances. It’s about showing that those external factors do shape us, whether we like it or not. And guess what? Recognizing that doesn’t make me any less strong or capable. It just means I’m honest about where I started and proud of how far I’m going. So, no, I’m not blaming everything on others. I’m telling my truth. And that truth includes the reality that personal growth often comes from wrestling with the mess, not skipping straight to the happy ending.
wow, your story really shows how tough growing up can be!!! i totally get your point about feeling like you never got to be a kid and how unfair that is. it's crazy how life throws curveballs that make you grow up faster than you should. "the crack in their foundation" part hit hard, but you gotta remember, you're not to blame for adult choices. with everything you've been through, it's impressive you’re still fighting for your own happiness. what's one thing that keeps you hopeful despite all the challenges?? 💪
your narrative is indeed quite compelling and rich with emotion; however, while your experiences are undoubtedly challenging, it's important to recognize that adversity is a universal aspect of the human condition. "the crack in their foundation" suggests a self-imposed sense of culpability, yet placing such weight on your shoulders might hinder personal growth. having grown up in a fragmented household myself, i can relate to feeling like a byproduct of others' decisions, but shifting focus to the power of personal agency was pivotal for me. have you considered how changing your perspective might alter the trajectory of your journey?
while your story highlights significant challenges, it’s essential to acknowledge that everyone faces their own set of obstacles and difficulties. there seems to be a tendency to focus on blame rather than accountability; attributing your hardships exclusively to external forces may limit personal growth and resilience. people universally contend with family dysfunction and societal pressure. confronting these issues requires an internal reflection as much as external acknowledgment. it's clear that there’s a struggle with feeling overlooked amidst family dynamics, but have you considered how your experiences might equip you with a unique perspective or strength moving forward? 🤔
man, your story really nailed it about how rough it is growing up before you're ready. i totally get the "crack in their foundation" feeling, like life's just dumping all this weight on you without asking if you're cool with it. it's whack that you had to learn stuff about life way earlier than any kid should; life just doesn't give you a break sometimes. with all that heavy stuff, it’s easy to feel lost in the mess of family drama and expectations. but i'm wondering, how do you plan to carve out your own path with all these experiences shaping you? 🤔
reading your story, it’s clear that growing up was anything but easy for you. totally get the whole "childhood was over before it began" vibe. it’s rough how society and family dynamics can strip away the innocence and freedom you deserve. you mentioned feeling like "the crack in their foundation"; that hits hard and really illustrates the emotional weight you've carried. it’s a harsh reality that you had to face adult issues while still just a kid. feels like there’s more to unpack there—how are you balancing reclaiming your childhood now with everything you've been through? 🤔