Tender

You can say that I'm growing.

I guess you can say that,

but, my feet remain tender 

and my legs remain weak.

So built in appearance, so honored in name.

However, I wish I could make my name become sane.

The shadows around me, fight for dignity and surround me.

But I am little you know?

Not every one knows.

The weakness inside me crumbles each and every living cell.

They say, its all in your head.

That I must leap on forward.

Can no one understand that I stumble in sand?

That these waves wash me backward and forward, backward and forward, backward and forward,

again, again and again? 

But you say that I'm growing.

I guess you can say that.

 

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