Scrape, skid, peel,
I tumble onto the rough and cracked road,
air escapes my lungs like someone popping a balloon,
my knees and legs the color of the inside of a blood orange.
I felt like a used banana peel,
my body time and time again becoming bloodied, bruised, and scarred.
Months before me, my friends learned the trick of the trade: riding a bike.
Why can’t I?
Why am I taking forever?
Is there something wrong with me?
Learning how to ride a bike seems impossible to me.
Learning how to ride a bike is like tightrope walking;
if you fall off of the rope you can die, I fall off my bike and feel like I’m dying.
Tears always roll down my face, I crave what my friends have.
My friends always get to roam around town on their bikes;
and I simply don’t.
I am stuck at just learning how to balance, learning how to balance on my bike;
learning how to just manage my emotions as I fall over and over.
“Get up and try again” my parents and grandparents would voice to me.
I’m trying but it’s difficult when I crave to snap my fingers,
magically to be able to ride my bike with my friends,
have fun with them with no care in the world.
YOU ARE READING
You Don't Have To Be Perfect.
PoetryJust like how no body owes anybody to be "perfect", this book consists of not "perfect" poetry by me. The poetry in this book will range from poems that I wrote for assignments at school to just poetry that I wanted to write/wrote in my free time.
