Hey, remember the days,

Food displays and September birthdays,

Serving paper noodles and meatball mâchés?

Our creations were unparalleled,

Unmatched, nonpareil.


Riding in the streets in hundreds of ways,

From wings to our feet to scooters and sleighs.

Boom, bash, bang, why couldn’t it stay?

At least for a while longer,

Remained as we aged?


Now we spend weeks away,

Close as sisters, but imaginations astray.

We want warnings and waistlines and walkouts and wage,

Wallets before baking,

But why can’t we just play?


Two edges of the same fray,

We’re unraveled and cliché.

The strings tying us together,

Is a loosening bouquet

Of wire and tangles of lace in our way.


Though, through the knots,

We decide it’s what we make

Of our best and worst days,

Because you’ll still say my name,

And I’ll always say hey.


This poem is about: 
My family


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