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AloneON22 posted this thread...
Dec. 3, 2012 at 10:03 pm

At age five we wish we were twenty.
At age twenty we wish we were five.
I at 16 wish I were four.
Yet when I was four I wanted to spring forward in time.
To be anywhere but there with anyone but them.
To be away from the hands that left a stinging that felt like a hoard of hornets rushing at me.
I always wanted to believe that time travel was possible. Such an innocant petty belieif, is it not?
Like the little girl who simply wants to grow up to be a ballerina,
like the little boy who simply wants to grow up to become a police man,
what did I want to grow up to be in those moments? I did not want to be anything but free.
For when belts came flying and I ran down the halls, freedom was my wanted occuptaion.
For when being locked in a dimly lit room was what made me loose all hope, being free...was what I would work for.
 
But here at 16 I see my friends and family work themselves to the bone....I see the presperation fall of their brow and sting their eyes. I see their backs break and their teeth bite their bottem lip in agony.
And I realize.....we can never be free. Not when we are four, not when we are fifteen....not even twenty.
When I was four I wanted nothing more than to skip the moments of being punched and burned.
And now I only have two years left till I'm on my own, working for freedom like everyone else.
Did I go through all that just to be trapped here now?
I wanted to be older......
now I'd give anything to be younger....

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kdaws15 replied...
Dec. 8, 2012 at 11:01 am

I like the truth in your poem. But maybe you could put some more descriptive adjectives in there.

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KnitsandPurls replied...
Dec. 8, 2012 at 1:14 pm

This poem was composed in a very intelligent way. The bit about the ages did well for the beginning, and It worked well for you to revisit it thoughout the rest of the poem.
This is also a very emotional poem, and one that everybody can relate to, to a certain extent.
Thank you for you poem.
 
If you want something silly and cheerful to read, check out my limerick called "My Socks". But you totally don't have to.
--KnitsAndPurls
 

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