Poking holes in toilet paper packages.
Blowing dandelions over where the grass ends.
Doing all the things your mother said you shouldn't have done.
Unaware of what her lessons would've made you become.
Keeping the peace,
But never at ease.
That's how childhood ends.
Down the hall from the screams,
At night, my nonsense dreams.
That's where childhood ends.
It's the good old days,
What they all seem to say.
I'm thrown back in time
To a place not quite mine.
Buried hands in the sand,
We didn't yet understand
That memories sometimes sting,
And nostalgia isn't always a happy thing.
YOU ARE READING
Foreign Heart - A Poetry Collection
PoesiaEmotions continue to perplex me, and this is me simply trying my hardest to understand where they come from and what they mean.
