
Young Leaves
Location
Tossed around,
crumpled up,
never pleasing,
always an inconvenience.
With predetermined lives
we are disposed of
at someone else's discretion.
We are free, yet fragile
like young leaves,
we crumble.
Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741