Posted in Poetry

Growing Pains

Look at

you.

You’re a sweat hog;
you’re a BABY.

A BABY.

You know, you can shop at a different store—
sunglasses are not

appropriate

bus attire.

I got really mad at you,
running around with

no regard, no control
twice a day for weeks.

38 years old and can’t figure out a temporary tattoo.

-07.28.17

 

 

Author:

Trying to find the right words.

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