The hardest part of
growing
is watching others you
thought you knew
grow
backwards around you.
Call it shrinkage,
stunted growth,
backward movement,
or
whatever you choose.
Keep it away from me,
whatever
you do.
Make sure it doesn’t
rub off on you.
Poet’s Note
This poem is about the people I’ve chosen to allow in my life, and the moments when they shock me with their lack of growth, or even worse, their contentment in stagnation. It isn’t judgment for judgment’s sake; it’s recognition. Growth is messy, difficult, and uncomfortable. Some people simply refuse it, either because they feel they don’t need it or because they’re unwilling to confront themselves.
The poem is me drawing a boundary. Watching someone I care about move backward while I’m trying to grow is a strange, painful mirror. It isn’t about fixing them, it isn’t about explaining them. It’s about keeping their backward motion from rubbing off on me, about protecting the life and the self I’m building.
The line “whatever you choose” isn’t soft, it’s an eye roll. It’s acknowledgment that they’ve made their choice, and I’ve made mine. I cannot carry their stagnation, nor should I be expected to. This is a poem about attention, energy, and selective proximity. Here you will learn to understand that some growth is personal, and some distance is necessary.
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Say it. Don’t spray it.