The First 40 Years of Childhood by Tim D LivingstonThe first 40 years of childhood are the hardest, I agree.
Passed by my elementary school the other day
trying to feel something,
to extract meaning from a small place
that was so huge to me back then.
Is it just me or did 1st grade go on forever?
I tore a hole in the butt of my jeans on the merry-go-round.
My tighty-whiteys showed.
Nobody made fun of me but I was so embarrassed.
I learned to wear surfer brand t-shirts.
I learned the pursuit of cool.
Riding the bus was insane.
Middle fingers, cusswords, rock music, and spit balls.
I was a shy and overly sensitive boy
stumbling out of his shelter
where things were perfect and safe at home
and there was no tv.
I wonder why I am the way I am.
All the time.
Exposed and raw,
wrestling within and running back and forth,
from hermit to warrior, and to hermit again.
The other day I felt the need to move on.
That it was time to put those childhood pieces behind me.
I am healing now and wounds like memories must close.
I cannot constantly scratch and bleed from within
if I want to start living in the present.
Whatever I have leftover,
like a hole in my pants,
is just there because it's a part of me.
Showing like tighty-whiteys. 09/06/2012 Author's Note: I wear boxers now that I'm a big boy.
Posted on 09/07/2012 Copyright © 2025 Tim D Livingston
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Christel Crews on 09/09/12 at 03:09 AM "I am healing now and wounds like memories must close." - what a poignant turn of phrase.. there are some memories that are hard to close, but you are right, they must at some point close. how are you, friend? we should catch up soon! |
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