Tell me I’m not growing old
Tell me I’m not growing old,
Face is falling,
Curling then folds
My eyes are blurry
Not quite right
No remedy to fix this
Surely not light
Tell me I’m not a past tense verb,
Broke, bled, bought
It’s all just a blurb
A has been
Who has not
My name is old
But it’s all I’ve got
Tell me I’m not so close to death
I’ve closed my eyes
But I’ll hold my breath
I’ve so much to do
So much to say
So please I’m begging
Please let me stay
I’m not so mean
And you seem keen
So now I must tell you the truth you see
But first tell me you can tell
I’m turning eighteen.
This poem is about:
Me