Realization strikes,

And you're no longer daddy's little girl

Or mommy's big helper.



In fact, you're no size at all,

but somewhere in the middle

Like limbo

Or a misshapen puzzle piece

Waiting to fall into place.



So many rules,

So many changes.



Laps are forbidden,

And you can't cry for attention,

Or to get your way.



I fact,

You shouldn't cry at all.

(At least not in public.)



And it's good to keep your

Thoughts to yourself

Because ice cream dreams

Can no longer transport you

To lands that don't exist.



All they do now is melt.



Sweet

Sugary

Sticky

Sickly

Shining

Sliding

Down sides of cone holders.

Before they can be licked,

They drip.