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Trapped In A Mirror
January 14, 2021
Old Age
I worry about growing old.
It's always been a big fear of mine.
When the yellow paint starts to chip away like my old, frail skin,
And the tip starts to dull,
Only to eventually snap off.
Dull and bruised and worn out,
That's what I imagine it's like.
Everything becomes old and wrinkly,
And the combination of emerald and swamp green at the end,
Starts to die out.
It's no longer fresh and new and smooth,
It's old and sluggish and tedious.
You can’t make it new again.
And by the end, when you feel it's no longer useful,
You throw it out.
© Grace K., Port Washington, NY
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This was a poem that I had to write for an english assignment. Sometimes if im feeling something negative I write about it weather it's a poem or a paragraph. It's better for me to get my feelings down on a page rather than pushing them down.