when I loved to write cheerfully vivid stories on
bright blue notebook paper.
As a child I loved to swim and eat
I lived through big brothers,
and stolen best friends.
At thirteen I'm small, and scared sometimes
I’m still growing.
Sometimes a good cry feels good.
I don't sing or paint anymore.
I play sports and dream of writing again.
I cherish my friends, but don't fully trust.
I have these.
I hope for hope
and pray for faith.
And wish I wouldn't fall down so much.
The braces come off soon.
The door marks my inches.
I think I'll dig around for that notebook paper when I get home.