I am a child.
I am all the things of my past.
I yell and get angry over nothing, like my mother.
And constantly complain as my father does.
I am all I see.
The red of blood staining all the windows,
The splash of swimmers in the pool,
The shimmer of the moons increasing frown,
I am all I hear.
Noise and screams from angry CDs,
My mum’s nagging, screeching voice,
And the growls from beneath my bed,
I am all I feel.
The chill of shadows fingers around my wrist,
With the wind blowing through my hair,
And the rain dripping down my cheeks,
I am all I taste.
The cold bite of ice cream freezing in my mouth,
The nights icy breeze on my tongue,
I am all I remember.
The green of the still growing grass,
The screams of an angry little girl,
And the sky back when it was still blue,
I am all I’ve been taught.
That words can be more than just scribbles on paper,
How there’s unimaginable things outside my walls,
And rewards only come to those who work hard,
I am all I think.
Private thoughts,
The lies between love and hate,
I am like a dull, grey butterfly,
Expected to be beautiful,
But lives to disappoint.
Though one day I’ll be better.