It's such a simple thing
And as irrational as it is
I fear it
New bedsheets
While something nice
I'll settle for just cleaning the ones I have
So I can crawl into bed
With something fresh
And feel extra warm
But new bedsheets entirely
Means I'm growing up
I don't want to grow up
I don't want to get new bedsheets
The kind that's a solid color
It's not my style
I'd rather get ones with clouds
Or chevron
Just anything other than that
Can't I keep my own
The ones with bright colors
And patterns
I don't want new bedsheets
I'm not ready to grow up
Because new bedsheets
Means I'm staying here in this town
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoesíaEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
