Edge of Becoming
This blog post is generously provided in kind by Sara Wang. The Double Down blog is also supported by Nevada Humanities’ donors.
Sara Wang is one of the winners of the 2025 Spark! Youth Poetry Competition at the Las Vegas Book Festival.
By Sara Wang
When I was four, I fell.
Not metaphorically.
I tumbled, flailed my arms, and wailed
As I came crashing down
To my bedroom floor at 1am.
My parents installed these springy steel structures
The next day, inspired by both love and paranoia.
They attached to both ends of my bedpost,
Cradling to the sides of my bed like a comforting,
but sterile, hug.
That night, I crawled into my blankets.
I hated the squeak of the metal against metal,
But the sound felt like safety.
Months went by.
The marks on my door frame grew taller.
Shoes were replaced.
My handwriting grew neater,
And my stuffed animals began to collect dust.
One day, walking into my room,
They were gone.
The crisp white wings that had extended
Toward me every night.
Were gone.
I ran up to my parents.
“You’re grown now!
No more of these silly barricades.”
It was strange
How empty safety sounded.
My bed felt smaller.
The floor felt closer.
The quiet felt louder.
But I still slept in the middle,
Half trusting the edge,
And half missing the rails
Habits are harder to outgrow than height.
I found them again last week, deeply dug in the garage,
The metal dulled, the hinges stiff.
I realized, they were never meant to keep me from falling,
Only to teach me that I could get back up.
I used to think growing up meant not falling anymore.
But maybe it means trusting the fall,
And knowing there’s more to reach for
Then there ever was to hold onto.
Maybe it means leaning toward the edge
Learning to love the space
Beyond where the rails used to be.
Sara Wang is a freshman at Bishop Gorman High School in Las Vegas, Nevada. She loves writing and storytelling, and especially enjoys exploring themes related to the environment and identity. In her free time, she likes photography, playing guitar, and scrapbooking.