On the swings, on that broken branch,
on the road, on the roof,
on their minds, on their heads
just over and over being childish
flapping arms like a chicken or open wide like an airplane
skipping steps, jumping in the puddles
with a little sand behind my ears
dramatic mornings and whining nights
dashing, teasing, slipping, giggling, falling
and tripping on thin air.
I cant help it as I dont know when Ill be this young again
Im still a little girl, except
with hair too short to braid.
-She gushed, as he failed to hide his grin and the adoration, pride and amusement in his eyes.
YOU ARE READING
THE GIRL WHO SPOKE POETRY
PoetryThe thing about pain is, it makes you question.. what makes you human? ____________ **Not cliche, I repeat, Not cliche, WARNING, not cliche**
