You’re a grower, Aren’t ya?
As the sun comes in
my coat starts to change
but not enough to alter my color.
when the rain falls down
i start to make sounds
but the big kids view me as an “other”.
The winds pick up
things blow in every direction
And this teen crap starts to clutter.
Once the fire blazes
I’ve entered the real world
no time for mess ups, not even a stutter
keep going, keep going
the final phase
will be one like no other.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world
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