How do we grow out of our childhood? I wonder if it’s a gradual wearing off, or if most people can point to an event that shed their young, bright innocence like a knife put to sheepskin. Where all of a sudden, the safe bubble you’re in begins to peel back and reveal the ugliness of the world outside.
This was a brief reflection that came to me in poetry form when I was home for the holidays.
The Age of Innocence
Beige walls curve around me
and though I’m not bigger
they’re too safe, and too small.
‘Cause the years are turning
and I know how it feels
to fly, only to fall.
‘Cause the world is burning
and I know how it feels
to love, then lose it all.
I miss the memories
that fill these spaces here.
I’m scared that’s all they’ll be:
old clothes, old toys, old dreams.
Pen and Fire 