Grown (Not)

It has been a long time

Since the sun smiled,

Honored in the corners of my pictures by the yellowest crayon.

It has been a long time

Since the clouds were dense enough to carry me and my dreams,

Endless as the sky.

Nowadays the sun has been reduced to

A star, encased in science,

A foreigner to my imagination.

The clouds are a result of precipitation,

And nothing more.

I know that the cracks in the sidewalk

Won’t break my mother’s back.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t avoid them.

I’ll still smile at the sun,

It doesn’t need to smile back for me to

Have a good day.

And maybe someday

I won’t need to use my lungs to make clouds,

So I can carry my dreams on my own.

Who said I can’t be a kid

At the same time, I grow?

This poem is about: 
Me

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