My grandpa taught
My legs to strike
Against the peddals
Of my bike
My father tried
To teach me too
But I only cried
And tried to hide
Two tires
Bumpy tread
Hot and sticky air
Overhead
A hot pink wrapping
With black lettering
Of such wording
I have no inkling
Of remembering
Besides
That those two wheels
Front steering
Handlebar brake squeals
Oh so freeing
A blue and white bike
More fit for my size
And much more the style
To take on a joy ride
In the middle of the night
With no intention to return
Yet with blue and red wash of light
I was forced
Back to a home
That I didn't fit in
To parents
I no longer desired
To belong
YOU ARE READING
My Life Poetically-Dressed
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry I wrote about each year of my life. Some years will have more than one poem. I know this platform is mostly for novels and such, but I felt like receiving feedback on my poetry. I hope you can feel heard, seen, and l...
