this is for the concrete streets,
the empty roads,
the side walk chalks,
and my childhood chores-
cause i see my best friends of long ago,
carrying the curses of growing old,
with a heart of glass from a piece of stone,
and our childhood fears turns into something dark and worse.
this is for our baby teeth,
the e-head's song,
our childhood crushes,
and the five-peso soup-
i can see our younger selves out there,
with knees full of bruises but we don't care,
wearing that bright smile on our pretty face,
and it leaves me missing our scared place.
this is for the dreams,
who we are before,
before the world turn against us,
and the doors we've closed-
i'm hoping that whenever your feet bring you,
may you find the silver linings behind every storm of blue.
YOU ARE READING
repetition
Poetrya love letter to the cliches and stereotypes of modern poetry - repetition.
