Something I Wish I Heard When I Was Your Age

It’s the sound of rain. It’s the taste of metal. It’s the voice pressing on your temples chanting, “go home.” But you don’t. You never do. You need to get away, even if it’s only a few moments, you need this more than anything in your- breathe*.

 

It’s your frozen hands. It’s the bumps on your arms. It’s the quake in your voice chanting, “go away.” But it doesn’t. It never does. Breathe*.

 

You can run to such beautiful places, to such beautiful people. Where the sun is out, and the breeze hugs you. You can run, all your life. You might even forget it’s there. But it’s not gone.

 

It’s the marrow in your bones. It’s the only constant in your life. It’s what created you. It’s in everything you do - everything you’ve become. You couldn’t help it. You couldn’t escape.

 

You’ll get lost running from depression. But oh my God, don’t you dare stop.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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