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Literature Text
When alcohol was simply used
For rubbing on your cuts
And boys thought about your cooties
Instead of boobs or butts
When a 'joint' was what hurt papaw
not something you should hide
And saying you ate all your greens
was all you ever lied
I miss when a teddy, was your
Only buddy in bed
When "I love yous" and "I'm sorrys"
Were never left unsaid
When losing your pet fish, Goldy
Was the only death faced
When right was right, and wrong was wrong
And we played tag and raced
I wanna be a kid again
Irony at it's best
For everyone knows, growing up
Is nothing like we guessed
For rubbing on your cuts
And boys thought about your cooties
Instead of boobs or butts
When a 'joint' was what hurt papaw
not something you should hide
And saying you ate all your greens
was all you ever lied
I miss when a teddy, was your
Only buddy in bed
When "I love yous" and "I'm sorrys"
Were never left unsaid
When losing your pet fish, Goldy
Was the only death faced
When right was right, and wrong was wrong
And we played tag and raced
I wanna be a kid again
Irony at it's best
For everyone knows, growing up
Is nothing like we guessed
Literature
Growing Up
scraped knees. broken hearts. dying memories.
Literature
Grow Up
When I was young,
I knew a girl.
She was so warm and bright,
so I asked her that question
that all children must answer.
'What do you want to be
when you grow up?'
Her eyes lit up with joy
and she jumped with excitement.
'A dancer!
No, an astronaut!
Wait, President!
A scientist!
I'll be famous
and in movies!
My name
will be everywhere!'
She listed so many more
until she finally just smiled
and looked at me with eyes filled
with child-like wonder.
'I could be anything I wanted.'
Years and years later,
I saw the same girl again
but her eyes no longer
lit up with wonder.
I asked her,
'What did you end up being?'
She
Literature
Growing Up
it seems that by now I’ve been diagnosed
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
believed me
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way
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Comments7
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Wonderful. As always!