Used to Be
He stands tall once he leaves,
his classmates wondering what
happened to him in the country.
His eyes hold a fierceness to them,
a fierceness that he loves and loathes,
a sense of power and anger.
He used to be magnificent.
She holds herself gracefully,
her back straight, demeanor poised.
Her friends see a more adult side to her,
a side they’ve never seen before,
a side they want her to keep,
a side she doesn’t want to let go of.
She used to be gentle.
He is no longer stubborn.
He is truthful now, always honest.
His mother notices how he never
bickers with his siblings anymore,
how he’s never childish or irritated,
the redeemed traitor.
He used to be just.
She is more mature like her sister,
a grace about her that teachers often note.
She seems to make friends faster than
before, a radiance and glow that makes her
likeable and friendly.
She speaks often of ruling over a land.
She used to be valiant.
They stood tall and graceful,
ruling over their land with pride.
They have names, titles that they were
respected by, that they used to love hearing.
They were proud rulers and friends, terrifying
enemies and ruthless battle strategists.
They used to be Kings and Queens.
Now they are devastated, small and skinny
once again, young and expected to be kids.
They are offended when they get called their
regular names, invalidated and small,
too young to be old, too old to be young.
Nothing more than children.
They used to be known.
