This poem is not at all what I want it to be and that’s why I’m posting it. I have a poem due for class and looking over old poems, and it turns out I pretty much hate everything I ever wrote. It’s kind of just one of those moods, but it’s due in a little while and I’m kind of tearing my hair out over here.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept that no one really cares about what’s happening to you as much as you do. Like, we’re so self-conscious all the time, but so is everyone, so no one has time to actually make other people feel self conscious. It’s all in our heads. But that’s not what this ended up being at all. And that’s how it seems to go.

Age Two

I am eyeing the crowd
and my heart feels –
Proud that the two eyes
of everyone
will soon be
on me.
But with bated breath I
know it scares me to death so
I try to act
like my life’s in tact
and that –

little girl on a swing
sticky fingers hugging metal bars
blue eyes that sing
of a future among the stars
“Play with me, Stephen?
Play with me, Anna…?
Noel or Grace or Hannah?”
But no one come to swing
to the skies
So little blue tears shine
in little blue eyes –

Never happened.
I remember that age when
I take the stage
and begin to speak.
A strong voice comes from
eyes that seek
Those faces among the crowd
my heart feels
Stephen Noel Grace and Hannah
Everyone’s two, eyes on you
Do they see or look right through
to sticky little hands on
rusty metal bars
to a lonely little girl
with her head up in the stars.

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