Young as I wish to be, aging as I am
I say yes to weaving trails with my hands
I say yes to kite flying, the spirit of aviation
is in me too
I am petrified
you say it too
"I hope we don't turn into money-people".
never laying lame
learning to use the loo
a lopsided smile showed where
my teeth weren't
holding her hand has calloused my fingers
now they do not cross
of their own will
warm souls, warm shoes
even have a mother that makes beef stew
I go to school and everything is alright
I learn to make paper planes, I learn to cuss up a storm,
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