A short poem about nothing, really, but still something.

A short poem about nothing, really, but still something.

Something: growing older.


Growing Older

you didn’t see the secrets

lying beneath your bed.

scraps of fur,

the lost pages of old books;

lost, like you.


you didn’t see much of anything.

not the macaroni necklace you made

for mother’s day

in kindergarten.

not the remnants of an old ice cream cone,

old and forgotten.

forgotten, like you.


you’re not just forgotten,

you’ve forgotten.

you’ve forgotten everything.

everything, like me.


you’ve forgotten how to live.

you’ve forgotten things that really, actually


and all you can think about now,

is the things that you shouldn’t bother thinking about.

but i can’t help it.

i love you anyway.

and i should bother thinking about you;

so why don’t you bother thinking about me?

bother, like me?


you’ve outgrown yourself.

you don’t think about the world in the same way.

which is okay,


the way you think about it now is wrong.

utterly wrong.

you were wrong.

i’m not juvenile.

i’m just me.

wrong, like you.


you’ve outgrown yourself,

my darling.

grown, like me.

outgrown, like you.

//grown\\ //outgrown\\



Photo credits to Wordstuck on Tumblr.

~ Lilou


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