Bloomer

Where is my prize for being the latest bloomer?

I smile, Look at me, I say-

I’m grown up now. I have new glasses, new hair.

I bought a new sweater just last week. 

And you smile back and applaud.

Look, you say-

You moved on. Packed it all away. Became something new. 

I have spent twenty-four years in this body.

All of my metaphors about hands, and eyes, and how it feels to not feel like something. 

I spent two years away from you.

And suddenly my metaphors are about caterpillars and poppy seeds. 

Things that become something else. Things that bloom. 

I am not yet certain of myself. But I will pretend to be.