A Poem About Growing Up

The title says it all

Writhing, languid, and melancholy,
I exercise the child from my bones.
Prevailing are personal philosophies,
Though I can no longer be who I once was.
I remain rooted in my memories,
Juvenility of mine stays with people and places left behind.
While maturity swells within me,
I sometimes wish to retreat to a time when
My only worry was swinging so high that I’d never come back.
It dawns on me that innocence is the truest state of being,
When evil holds existence only in fables and fairy tales.
When child leaves my body,
I am no longer girl, but gladiator,
not just woman, now warrior.