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

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