Reaching Adulthood: Too Young

Being born is a blessing. 

Being a kid was depressing.


Tears dripping down my skin with no stopping.

Nowhere to leave, nowhere to shift; nowhere to conceal.


Confronting darkness, gloaming, smoggy clouds with a heavy raindrop tumbling down myself.

Making withstand as small as a speck of dust.

Asking myself, “Will sunshine ever move to flicker again?”  


There’s no escaping, but the rather fronting realization.


Life can be dim or it can be vivid.

Life can be frigid or it can be optimistic.

Life can be shattered or it can be renovated. 


Life is what you formulate to exist.


This poem is about: 


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