Archived: Last-Year-Old Me by Jacqueline Del Ciotto

My generation was raised on the tail end of what I call, “The Last Years,” 
“The Last Years” when I was handed a phone when I was thirteen and clicked away the last days of my childhood, 
When my grandparents gave up on trying to figure out how to take a screenshot and I became old and wise, 
After that, “The Last Years” were over,
No more playing with dolls, or stomping in the rain, 
Thirteen-year-old me did not realize that my childhood years were gone, 
Twelve-year-old me did not expect thirteen-year-old me to have to grow up so quickly,
Thirteen-year-old me did not realize that when she looked in the mirror that she would not like what she saw 
and probably was not aware that fifteen-year-old me would not like me either, 
Fourteen-year-old me didn’t even have a chance against the other girls,
In the future, 20-year-old me probably liked how she looked at fifteen-year-old me, 
but does not like the thought of turning into 30-year-old me, 
That was a-long-time-ago me, I have been sixteen-year-old almost seventeen-year-old me for a while, and I like me now. 
Last-year-old me would not have thought that she would like my freckles or red hair,
Last-year-old me would have stopped dancing because she could not get her leg as high, 
Last-year-old me did not know that she could love herself and be different from everyone else.
Sixteen-almost-seventeen-year-old me realizes that millions of “me’s” felt the same exact way.