I'm leaving today.
"It's time," you say.
Inside, my lungs contract at the thought of leaving the only home I've ever known.
"Am I ready for this?" I ask myself.
I receive an echo for an answer,
and I feel that hiding away is easier than facing what I have to do.
Forgotten picture frames hang against the wall,
and I find myself reminiscing the times that I have lost.
I can never return to this stage of my life,
and with that thought I feel my youthfulness fade away.
It is time to grow up.
To face to world that I have feared for so long.
It seems incredulous that we are forced to leave our homes when we are no longer needed.
Just like the birds,
I am pushed from my nest,
and expected to fly.
What if I have a broken wing?
Or if I don't remember how to survive?
"You will figure it out," they say,
and push me on my way.
YOU ARE READING
META
PoetryWhen the metamorphosis came, I was not ready. Change is not easy, when you're too young. My brand new wings sprouted from behind me, it burned like hell, but I stayed strong. There was people that needed me, dreams that I needed to complete. I could...
