Version 16.0
by Sreepaadh Parlapalli, Bacchus Marsh Grammar
Years 9 – 10 Written Poetry Finalist
I took the glow-in-the-dark stars off my ceiling yesterday.
Just peeled them right off.
They left these ugly, sticky yellow squares behind,
like little bruises on the plaster.
Mum asked why, and I just shrugged.
You can’t really explain that you woke up at 2 AM
and suddenly felt stupid for pretending you slept under a galaxy
when you actually sleep next to a laundry pile
and a half-read English novel.
At lunch, Sarah was stressing over subject selections,
chewing the plastic cap of her water bottle
until it was totally jagged.
“”If I don’t pick Methods, I can’t do Science,”” she said,
staring a hole into her sandwich.
I nodded, trying to look like I cared about ATAR prerequisites.
Honestly, I was too busy watching a seagull fight a bin chicken for a stray chip.
I’m fifteen.
I’m supposed to be “”laying the groundwork for my future.””
Joining debate. Volunteering. Caring about my math grade.
But mostly my chest just feels constantly tight,
like someone tied a shoelace around my ribs
and double-knotted it.
I still don’t know how to talk to teachers without rehearsing it first in my head.
I still laugh at jokes I don’t actually hear
just so the silence doesn’t get awkward.
And my plastic stars are sitting at the bottom of the bathroom bin,
buried under a crumpled tissue.
Everyone talks about growing up like it’s this straight line,
like you just wake up one day knowing how to drive
and pay taxes and not care what people think of your shoes.
I keep waiting for the sudden, magical maturity upgrade.
The patch notes for Version 16.0.
But I think I’m exactly the same kid I was in primary school.
I’m just taller,
I have more homework,
and I’m way more tired.