Time is Not Linear

I am a child.
The world is new and bright,
Filled with voices and color.
I was born a few weeks ago,
At the age of 16.
It feels like rewinding a tape;
I use those still.
Pixels on the liquid display feel cold and have no scent.
The plastic is tangible,
Like me.
I was born into this grown-up body,
And mail comes here.
Bills.
They have a name on them.
My name.
I was confused, but I've promised to work harder.
My parents treat me with respect,
And my sister is way too tall now.
I am sixteen.
I am newborn.
There is a house to clean and bills to pay.
There is a sad voice on the phone that
(I remember)
Used to call me "wife" and "sweetie".
I will turn twenty-three in two weeks.
I don't remember where I was,
But I'm going home.