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Isabel May 16
I remember the first time I left you at the childminder's
Walking down the street feeling strange but free
Nothing to push or carry
And now you're moving out
For the second (or is it the third?) time
And I feel exactly the same
Is that wrong?

But I think that I will feel that something's missing
When you take your Lego men off the shelves
He's 29! Love our grown men-children.. he writes poetry too, so it's all good
Growing up is finding out the real world is cruel
Growing up is finding out what you once knew isn't real
Growing up is realizing a movie or fairy tail
Growing up is learning to hurt, and learning to fail.

Growing up is truly learning how to fake a smile
Growing up is finding out your grandfather is a *******
Growing up is finding out your family hates you for something you cannot control
Growing up is going to the mines so you can support your hateful family by mining coal

Growing up is coming to terms with death
Growing up is learning your mother does ****
Growing up is realizing your father is abusive
Growing up is forever being inconclusive

Growing up is pain
Growing up is hate
Growing up is raze
Grown-up is a four letter word.
For anyone who follows me regularly I apologize for being gone so long, I just wasn't as inspired to write. Also, I am not really back, I'm sorry if you really like my work, but I'm just not as inspired as I was. But thank you so much for enjoying my work and I hope you like this one
SJ Nov 2018
The house was perfect
No matter how small.
Forget the broken window,
The stain on the carpet floor.

The explosion of toys over the floor,
The tea parties,
Cubby houses,
And Zombies at the park.
The urgent rush to tidy up
Before mum walked in the door.

Stories with Dad
A run-away lawn mower,
Bruce the shark.

On Christmas mornings,
When we would wake up,
To find map,
Guiding us to the treasure

In this house, I learnt what having a brother was like,
lots of cars
lots of trucks
lots of blocks

Where I learnt to walk
And talk
And laugh
Where I discovered the power of words,
The importance of doing your best
Taking pride in your work.
Treating others with kindness,
Not putting yourself first.

All the memories,
Echoes of laughter
The photos of a happy family
Like trophies on a shelf.

Clocks ticking,
Moving fast
Too fast.

Until one day,
We outgrew the house,
Small was just too small,
Where would we find space,
For the things that needed a place?

So, we packed up and left
Shutting the door
On memories and expired dreams
That weren’t around anymore

But we set off,
To make another house of bricks,
a perfect home.
Bartholomew Sep 2018
Big
We went from “who loves orange soda?” to take a shot for me.
To waiting in lines at the DMV, from waiting in lines at the school dance like “bruh hold my spot for me”
From N64 controllers to leasing a Toyota Corolla
Dealing with these adult life problems we don’t have no control of

From pillow forts to the rents due
From action figures to hopes of six figures
From razor scooters to shaving with razors
From love letters to car notes
crazy right?

The only losses we worried about were argued through Rock Paper Scissors.
Now we worry about losing jobs, material things and on the news daily we lose our brothers and sisters.

The only pain we felt was scraping our knees on the concrete.
Now we scrape change tryna pay the bills hoping that our ends meet.
I wish I could go back, I close my eyez with my memories and feel gratification.
And the thing I miss most of all at that tender age is my imagination

I can’t believe I couldn’t wait to get big
Lekha Nath Sep 2018
you were a wet lump of mud
in front of me
i gave you shape
i gave you
a mild shape first
when you took your first steps
then i gave you a good curve
when you smiled even when you were sad.
i gave a smooth finish
when your teacher told me
what a good human you were
but now
when you are about to dry
did i give you a curve of love?
was i good parent
O! child , don't leave me
you were a wet ***
but now you are a free bird.
fly
fly
make me proud.
Aria de Lima May 2018
So I'm supposed to be a grown up now and do grown up things,
Like pay bills and actually go to the gym to do more than look at cute guys.
And I am supposed to find a place to live on my own,
Where I will do groceries and cook meals, healthy meals that are not craft dinner out of the ***.
And I'm going to have to clean everything by myself,
I guess I need to buy cleaning supplies, like a vacuum and toilet cleaner and windex.
And I will work, go to a job everyday,
But it can't just be any job, it has to be something I love because I don't want to be one of those people who hates their job.
And now that I am a grown up I will watch the news,
And shake my head at the politicians and vote.
And my room will always be super organized,
With little boxes for everything and dressers I bought and assembled myself from IKEA.
That's right, I assembled them myself. I may have had to borrow my Dad's tool box but I did it myself.
That's another thing I need to, buy a tool box.
All of these things need to be done now because I am a grown up.
But how am I supposed to be a grown up when I still feel like a kid?
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
Six to Twelve
(My Big Sister)


My sister,
she’s a silly ol’ priss.
Know what she did?
She gave her boyfriend a kiss!
Blech! Doesn’t she know
boys are just yucky?
Doesn’t she know
they’ll make you buggy?

We used to do things together,
my sister and me.
We’d play in our yard
And climb up our tree.

But now when my sister
Arrives home from school,
She calls up her boyfriend.
She thinks she’s SO cool.
She giggles and whispers
Closed up in her room.
She stays there forever!
Well…
All afternoon.

She’s acting so silly.
It must be a stage.
But I won’t be like that!
When I get to her age!

Twelve to Six
(My Little Sister)


My little sister,
she’s such a pest.
She goofs off in the morning
when she needs to get dressed.

She has to be reminded
to brush her teeth and her hair.
I have to tell her what to do sometimes
and even what to wear.

She can really get in my way.
I want to be serious,
but she wants to play.

I wonder will she ever grow up?
Will she be cool like me?
I know I was her age one time
but I was more grown up, you see!
Also for the children's book.
daytime rhythms
of coming and
going


a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge


out the door
in the car
to the place


there


twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter


hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock


and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock


a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side


then
out the door
in the car
to the place


for something quick
to have for dinner


then


home




© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
The march of nine-to-five sets the rhythm of the day, both soothing and begrudging. It causes flare-ups of activity at certain times and lulls at others.

Collective shufflings here and there make people cranky but keep them on track. And the sequence of sounds—predictable, as if orchestrated—makes music of the mundane.
Shanath Apr 2017
Sometimes I look at the old photographs
Pressed between worn out pages
Of times I do not remember,
For the times I keep guarded
I keep no mark of.
So I stare at that little girl
Whose eyes are same as mine
And has seen the same wars as I,
Because the damage was done
When I was a kid.
From then to now
The wars have ceased,
That little girl has seen too much for her age
Than now I ever will.
I wonder when I look at her face,
I fail to connect
That's how I stay away from people.
I wonder if she thought of the future ahead
How her strength then would let her live?
If she knew why she continued to fight ,
If she ever had any hope at all,
Or she thought she couldn't simply die?
Because all I can think now
Is ending it here.
I have hope, I really do
But I look at her decades back
And I don't see the point.
She was so scared, all the time
She had her walls so high
She, the moment she understood
Spent her time wishing to save others.
Her life contained days
That belonged to everyone around,
Her fight thereupon easier.
I guess the problem ensued
When she started to have her own.
I look at her, I look at her
She doesn't look anything like me,
I don't feel anything at all
But pain.
I want to tell her
That is all she will ever feel,
That pain she thought would go away
Would bury itself in her soul
And she will never feel alive again.
I never really recognize her by her looks
It's always how she makes me feel,
I stare at her
And the sadness has remained,
The fear still lines up
And happiness for some people
Is a momentary event
That simply intensifies the pain.
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