Playing with her prized dolls
in the closet beneath the stairs.
Swinging beside the blossoms in the back yard.
Climbing the big magnolia tree,
wanting to reach the sky.
Dreaming of angels.
Dancing without a care,
in her own little world.
The little girl is grown up now.
The closet beneath the stairs is empty.
The swing beside the blossoms
moves only by wind now.
The lonely magnolia is bare.
But the little girl is still there.
She still dreams of angels.
She still dances in her own little world.
Even as things change around her,
one thing will always stay within her;
that precious, little girl.
Growing up is hard. I am at a point now where part of me can't wait to go to college and get out of here, but another part wants to go snuggle up in my mom's lap and let the world pass by.
I wrote that poem among many for a poetry class last year. I think it's my favorite because I feel like it perfectly describes what goes on in a mid-teen's thoughts:
Going forward... or going back?