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Zoe R Codd Jul 2014
growing up too quickly
has left me so far behind.
and when reality kicks in,
i think of you-
i keep my mind distracted.
and the air really did smell sweet tonight…
but now, it has turned sour.
Jordyn Dennis Jul 2014
We envy the ones older than us because they have the freedom and experiences we crave,
But they envy the ones younger than them for the want to live old memories of our age and have the life and energy we do.
I wish i was 18 and free.
J M Surgent May 2014
No matter what I do
theres always something
I want more
Like a camera
or a trip
or even just something
just a little bit better
than what I have, even if its older, because
sometimes things
of old are
so much better
than the new,
like how I look at
These cameras I dream of
in stores, in
flea markets,
I hold their predecessors,
their grandfathers
and feel the cold calm
of the metal body
in my hands, and know that
things just aren’t built this way any
more, and people
aren’t what they used to be, or
so it seems,
from the history classes
and all the books
I read, about life
before it was my time
and how people seemed
to give a ****,
and didn’t just sit
and whine
and waste so much time,
but how did they live
before Facebook
how could they
fall in love without
Tinder,
or read the news without
Twitter
or pass their classes without
google on their Androids in their laps to pass the answers on the test before them?

So I guess they were just tougher
than us, like these old cameras
I want, and they
didn’t want, like we
want to pretend we need
so we don’t have to accept
what’s right in front of us.

Our excuse that
We need to wait for film
To develop.
Mary N May 2014
Baby pictures fill the boxes
Such innocent pictures
Swinging on swings
Drinking juice boxes
Smiling
Giggling
Happy
Growing
How can that once joyful mind turn so dark
So violent
If the past repeats itself
I hope it does soon
I would like to be that girl again
May 24, 2014
J M Surgent May 2014
i can't help it,
everyday,
whatever I do,
we grow older.

i'd love to grow old with you,
but I'm not ready to give up my youth.

heavenly thoughts in you,
nostalgic thoughts untrue:
take me back to when
bike rides and ice cream ruled my land.

steak on the grill, corn on the cob,
fed my summer trance.

take me back to when
a simple sunset caught my glance.
claire Apr 2014
Oh, the wretched, damnable ache of growing older
of saying farewell to wild romps through the park
of turning these sunshine smudged days over to memory
of taking it all into my arms once more
before
letting  it
go
  completely
it’s a funny sort of pain
and I don’t much like
the way it pulls at my insides
an ulcer; stinging, perverse, present

years ago I longed to be
the age I am now
thought it would guarantee
confidence and joy

but now that I’m here
staring into the abyss
on the brink
of living
“my own life”
I’m paralyzed

perhaps that little girl
with the tender spirit and
brown eyes
who believed time would solve everything
was wrong

because now I would give
just about anything
to be in her place
Rebecca Gismondi Apr 2014
this room
a room with a view
towering coasters littered with fireworks
a suburban landscape that grew
eighteen years
for a while I thought there was no view beyond these walls
these four barriers that hold
all of me
where I g r e w
eighteen years
from a stumbling child
with pink bows and sturdy white iron
so small in a space so large
I couldn’t fill it
I couldn’t find myself within it yet
this sea of pink frills
but
I curled up with a book every night from what I remember
and I wrote in my first every diary on this bed
and I listened to that prized stereo over and over and over
and as I blossomed this pink palace faded
change
i
changed
so that pink was torn down
and replaced with blue
and green
and purple
and for a while it remained bare
I remained bare
but as I g r e w I was marked
graffiitied
plastered
a rejection here
a death there
I was no longer solid; plain
like these walls, images appeared stuck
who I should be
where I should go
what I should wear
and soon all I saw were these walls
and myself within them
they spoke to me
sometimes in pain
other times in anger; frustration
this cave and sanctuary was my only retreat
writing on the same desk from my childhood about love lost and dreams unfulfilled
I sat in a closet covered in fabric and lost myself in stories
I dance alone facing a mirror, scrutinizing every angle

who was I?

within these walls I found a path
an acceptance
a moment well received and earned
I finally cried tears of joy
new steps, new space
new paint, remove old
images stripped away
from these barriers
red, white, brown
calm
these “barriers” slowly became
arms
they held me
during times of struggle and self-doubt and stress and fear
and I still looked in that mirror and scrutinized
and I still yearned for more of a view
and I still lay broken and heaving in this bed
but I also
g r e w
I left and came back changed one irreplaceable July summer
and
I spoke freely and bravely through the mouth of my pen
and I
smiled brightly at his face on that screen
I g r e w
eighteen years
these arms, once barriers, once only walls
hold everything
all of me
and to leave is bittersweet
for I want to stay
and curl up in this bed
and see my past selves
sitting there with me
to remind me of where I’ve come
I want to sit at that desk and hear
the incessant drumming underneath my floors
I want to hear my mother call me down for dinner
and my father’s hearty laugh
but although these arms hold me
I know they are letting me go
eighteen years
letting me go
to keep on
g r o w i n g
to return changed
but to still see
myself.
Thia Jones Mar 2014
When you're sixty plus and trans
you don't get many offers
so need to issue them instead
when your life's been short of romance
it's hard to break on through
easier for invitations to stay unsaid

If you're younger, more attractive
it can be hard to understand
just what it's like for someone
who is far less in demand

So if I should give an invitation
remember that's all it is
don't let embarrassment appear
you can say "Yes" or "No" or "Maybe"
respond to the invitation given
not to some imagined fear

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013
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