I walk this earth all by myself

a poem written by melissa paredes

Growing up is hard 
These are the years that hit us the hardest, where we are constantly fighting the riptide. It is overly saturated with emotions and experiences we don’t know how to cope with; and though thousands of us are drowning, it feels so isolating. It might collectively be the loneliest era of a human's life. 

There is deep longing for something so much more than what is being offered. There is a constant yearn for being anything but this, anywhere but here. Our imaginations are raw, cut edge, and still developing. There are symphonies, tragedies, and spirals all morphed into a colorful array of activity constantly happening in these little pink masses of ours. 
The world is so much. 
All the time. 
It is exciting, frightening, and plain out fucked up for no reason. 
We are continuously fantasizing about the lives we think we deserve; all while trying to make sense of the one we have. 
There is pressure of what accomplishments must be checked off at a certain age to be considered successful
Milestones meant to be hit at a certain time 
Well,
I think I’m falling behind 
I worry that I’m not doing enough 
And it’s sometimes hard to acknowledge the growth
Because true growth is invisible, and is not meant to be attained
Trying to make sense of who you are and what you believe in is the greatest challenge they do not prepare you for 
What do you care about deeply?
What are you willing to fight for?
What do you want?
What do you need?
Who are you?
What do we do with all of these existential curiosities? 
The times when we wonder who we really are and why. 
We are left shaken with the hard times, our foundations of the self are embryonic, barely forming. 
not firm enough, not yet. 
but I want to walk among a crowd and know where I stand. 
I want my psyche to stay still in the presence of others’ lives. 
In an understanding that mine is enough, and will always be enough. 
You see
Growing up is hard 
And sometimes when we explain our troubles to those who have walked down a million roads resembling this one; we are given the nod. 
That face, that says; “welcome to the real world.” 
But I wonder,
Do you wonder? 
What the real world really has to be?
What if I don’t want to accept that?
What if I need and demand more than just what is considered the “real world?”

What if revolution was the answer!
What if we had a worldwide rebellion of the youth
They send us to the front lines anyway
Taking advantage of the fire naturally blazing in our hearts
Burning through life like the way a flame devours dry leaves. 

Being young is hard
Except 
There are those things I love about being young 
I want to fantasize about making memories with my friends in places we’ll most likely never go to.
I want to lengthen my list of firsts with the real world.
I want to continuously fall in love with all I encounter.
I want to make mistakes and learn from them.
I want to laugh unapologetically and splatter myself into these boring concrete walls and cause a commotion with no embarrassment 
I want to cry with so much passion because a love my mother knew wouldn’t last, wasn’t real and my heart thought it was so 
I want to be convinced that I’ve planned things well so I won’t fall into the same holes my parents have; but fall anyway 
I want to absorb the richness of my community and allow it to raise me 
I want to question authority and demand an explanation, reason, for all that there is to question in the world 
I want to dream a dream made of dreams
I want to be me,
Fully me, with no comprehension of what others think 
I want to embrace my imperfections and be able to understand that I have not fully bloomed yet 
I want to walk slow and look up at the sky and take a deep breath and feel at peace 
I want to look out my window and feel like I’m in a music video and have life romanticize itself 
I want to believe just for a second, with all my naiveté, that I walk this earth all by myself. 

Much love, 
Meli