I wrote a poem the
other day. Well perhaps not a poem as much as a short jumble of prose. It
was inspired by a group of youths chasing around in the lush green of a creek
behind my house. Alas, this is my attempt at a poem:
To be a
tween
To frolic in neon brights
Heart
set a flutter
At the
sight of a wink or a smile
Set
against the dull glow of a pixelated screen
To be a
tween
Heart so
full with the bittersweet strength of youth
And the
sacred promise of a perfect adolescence
I am fifteen now
I feel
akin to a downtrodden house mat
What ever
happened to my promise of a perfect adolescence?
Did I
leave it in the washing machine for an
hour too long?
What do you think? Too angsty? Tooo melodramatic? Oh well it's how I felt
Truly Mary,
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