As our different colored eyes
Gaze weary and tired
Different colored skins
Rising from the same fire
We the arsonists
Of prejudice
And products
Of the past
Making changes for the better
And hoping that they last
Maybe I'm just getting older
And I know a little more
Of the things that I want to be
And what I was before
That what makes me myself
Isn't what makes you, you
That the choices I make
Aren't the ones you would choose
Maybe I'm just getting older
And my world is a little bigger
Than what I can see
From my father's shoulders
And I live with much more vigor
And maybe If we touch hands
With those who seem distant
We meet bitter and lonely and broken
With resistance
Maybe we can't change the past
But we can change what it manifests
And we can meet pain, and sickness and death
With a heart that can't arrest
And canned words
That we keep suppressed
Will be used to heal not hurt
And insecurities will not be brought to light
Because we know each other's worth
And the silence of our mouths
Versus the noise in our heads
And the memories we shy from
Woven by the same thread
Weaved together by
The human condition
And the sad truth
That words become ammunition
But maybe we can put the bullets away
And lay down the swords
And with each other in arm's reach
See what we are working towards
And the journeys we take
Will be different but rewarding
And the path will be unlit
But together we're forging
YOU ARE READING
Maybe I'm Just Getting Older
PoetryLove, anxiety, hope, fear, identity, and pain are all things that we experience while growing up. This is a collection of poetry from my personal experience being a teenager and some poems about books I have read. Feel free to critique my poetry or...
