First Born

It’s amazing how difficult it is to be firstborn

The second does not understand

They see privilege



Yet being firstborn comes with so much responsibility

It’s built-in

It’s part of the job

It looks like bossiness

But it’s protection

It looks like don’t wanna play

But it’s growing up

It looks like never share

But it’s longing for something

Anything that is exclusively yours

Firstborn means

Being in your own world sometimes

It means different teachers

Different friends

Different likes and dislikes

Different experiences

Different memories

It means moving at a different pace

Moving ahead

And eventually

It means leaving and not coming back

It’s not insensitive

It’s not uncaring

It’s just firstborn

Confetti In My Hair

I heard the clock.
I made it stop.
Then right back into bed I plopped.

And it wasn’t very long before
I was riding on a dinosaur
Through the streets of downtown Vero
In a parade, and I was the hero!

There were crowds of people, cheering for me!
“Hey, kid!” someone yelled, “You’re on T.V.!”
I could hear the sound of a big, brass band.
The president was there, and he shook my hand!

Then someone shouted, “Speech!”
I didn’t know what to say.
Of my entire life, this was the greatest day!

I took the stage with mic in hand,
And as I started to say something grand,
The earth beneath me started to rumble.
I knew people were talking, but their words were a jumble.

I stood there frozen.
I couldn’t make a peep.
I could hear the distant sound of a

Louder came the sound!
The rumbling grew
And I fell to the ground!

I closed my eyes and covered my ears.
Was all I could hear!

This was my big chance!
I felt like a fool.
Then I heard Mom yell,
“Wake up! You’re late for school!”

My alarm clock was beeping.
I was lying on the ground.
There were no crowds of people.
In fact, no one was around.

It was all just a dream.
I wasn’t really there.
But if it was just a dream…
Why is there confetti in my hair?

Mechelle Ritchie Foster