My childhood becomes a blur.
Things are no longer the same.
People who were once friends,
have become strangers, once again.
Oh, how time flies my dear.
I moved houses endlessly when I was a child,
unsure to which one to call "home."
Yet,
the most unusual
place I grew up in.
Had to be the place I hated the most.
The place I would cry every-night about.
The place I yearn to experience,
once again.
The place I deny to believe gave me golden memories.
The times I would stay out until the sun,
spewed it's orange and pink hues.
The times I would sneak a kiss from a boy and
thought love was true.
Get out on bikes and cause my knees or hands to bleed from a fall or two.
That place, I could call
"home."
- some kid
YOU ARE READING
I wish that I didn't write these poems.
PoesíaVarious collective of unwanted poems I have written; for people who are fond of the subjects of heartache and who are disorientated through the navigation of this world. Let me share this with you. My emotions are inconsistent and messy, please in...
