Best Growing Up Poems
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Growing Up
Poems
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Best Famous Poems
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Growing Up
Poem
Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old
You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless,
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
cautiously,
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too?
I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
But
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately,
"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "
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Growing Up
Poem
Generation Next
Babies are gems and diamonds,
Babies are pure right through,
Babies are such little angels,
Especially when smiling with you,
Bouncing babies are such a charm,
For them we want no harm,
Baby need milk,cry up a storm,
Burp,tummy full,so cuddly and warm,
Babies will learn from me,
Babies will learn from you,
Remember,they are the next generation,
So teach them the right things to do.....
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Growing Up
Poem
Disturbed Child
That disturbed child
The teen girl with no friends,
and is rejected by her loved ones
She feels broken inside,
like theres no other choice
She takes the iron razor,
she puts it to her arm and hopes the pain will fade,
but in the end it only makes her feel worse
She does this to herself not because she is sad,
but because she doesn't think any one cares
She thinks
What if I put this razor to my throat,
and ended my life
Would they care then?
She feels like no one cares
What she doesn't realize is,
if she died a river of tears would come,
even faster then the blood would run from her
If she only knew life can be brighter
If she would only see,
that she is loved
That disturbed child,
We miss her
and theres no getting her back
What could we have done
Was there any changing her mind
Only God knows
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Growing Up
Poem
Dust and Fire
Standing naked …
above silent buildings ,silent with a smile …
riding soft and smooth rhythm(non usually played in his time)
behind him stands the well-famous small stormy desk ,
deep bottomless bed, pair of shoes, briefcase and a clock on top .
Deception, ignorance, duty and doom filling room,
In everything and in nowhere, in cement and bricks,
Making walls, streets, cars, wires; dressing in grey and bathed in dust
Fed by sweat and blood, from dawn till dusk …
Standing naked …
Filling oneself, dressing one's skin …
Caressed with saline breeze of distant sea …
arrived at that timeless moment, did not ask in
drawing on dust shapes of you and me
Under the blue breeze I set a fire
none would stop the flame's desire
to break free, to born as new
Humans aren't made of dust,rather,
of fire. Demons too
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Growing Up
Poem
A Letter to My Sixteen Year Old Self
Dear 16 year old self,
I know school's tough without any friends;
You eat lunch alone in the hallway
and crave for your teenage years to end,
hungry just to make it through each day.
Your grades start to slip- but not by choice;
it's all your teachers failing to hear
every silent scream within your voice-
you just want to excel with your peers!
Like your homework- you are incomplete
for you're such a lonesome teenager.
Sixteen tastes far more bitter than sweet
when your peers see you as a stranger.
Sure- you'll arrive to all the dances,
even make pages in the year book-
but you'll notice with a second glance
upside down frowns- take another look.
So, I'm writing you to let you know
you're going to make it out alive!
From a caterpillar you will grow
into a butterfly- you will thrive!
Sixteen was a very awkward age,
but this much I can tell you is true-
in your year book on every last page
there's someone who's feeling awkward too!
Yours truly, your 22 year old self
By Anne Currin
12/23/2012 For David's Hello/Goodbye Contest
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Growing Up
Poem
Memories of You
There was a little boy whom I called “Joshie.” He had a face like sunshine. He would play outside all the time; never coming in when I said to. He loved to skateboard until the sun went down. I would say “Joshie come in; this is going to get the best of you!” He would just smile that silly grin and look down. He loved to help the elderly for he felt their pain. He charmed them with his compassion and passion. He loved pen and paper, brush and paint, too. For art was his talent, it was what he loved to do. Awards were plenty, recognition was abound. Once they found Joshie’s work, nothing could turn them around. He loved his dog Oliver, just a little thing at that. Whenever he would lick me, Joshie said he was giving me a bath! Joshie was good with the little ones for he knew how to play. Make believe was his specialty and it was always a good day. Grandma K-K and he were very close; little spats now and then. The best she only wanted, so she gave much attention to him. Jonathan, Joshie’s little brother, was the greatest of all. He did want not to be called Jon-Jon because that made him feel small. Joshie taught Jonathan to ride, and Jon taught Joshie to skate. It really did not matter for they always stayed up late. Jingle bells and peppermint sticks; our favorite time of year. Houses lit with colors. What is your favorite pick? Joshie awoke with the sun, while Jonathan wanted none. So, the stairs down Joshie would go ready to take a peek; deciding to open everything just so we could sleep! But, they grew older. And, Joshie moved to the city. He was not well, but he did not dwell,
He just did not reach out to us. The evils of this world encircled my son and slowly took him in. The devil and all his workers really did a number on him. I reached, and reached stretching my arms long.. I called for help, but no response for he was gone. He was going down a path of destruction, and there was no reason or deduction. I thought I would watch him simmer that the bad habits would slowly evaporate. But, the more I watched, the more he detached and Joshie seemed to dissipate. Merry Christmas, Mommy!..... I love you, Joshie. But, can we go back to bed?.....Only if you take me, ‘cause there is no one I want instead. The last time I said “Goodnight”... they were burying him in the ground. The pain remains; the memory will not fade. I just want him around.
Holly P. Moore
October 2012
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Growing Up
Poem
She Hulk
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
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Growing Up
Poem
Trial and Denial
Again I'm put on trial,
a judgment so tortuous;
but you are in denial–
to see that takes no genius.
When letting go of a grudge
I see you're in no hurry;
but who appointed you judge?
I've yet to see your jury.
So quick to point your finger
at everyone except you;
you're an adult, act mature.
You have confessing to do.
Go on, confess whenever
the truth you refuse to face;
you can't deny forever
that you're a complete disgrace.
You love to play the blame game
so let's play another round;
what's wrong– are you too ashamed
to turn your finger around?
By Anne Currin
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Growing Up
Poem
Give me a break I am PMS ing
I may slap you, curse you, smack you
Don’t get too serious honey, its monthly fun
I am PMS ing and my trauma is true
Be my gentleman and Pass My Shotgun
I may hate your friends and knock them down
Be any handsome man or cute chick
Don’t get them here when I am around
I am PMS ing, People Make me Sick
I may laugh out loud at your silly jokes
And the very next moment won’t find them funny
That catastrophic emotional trauma pokes
I am PMS ing, its Psychotic Mood Shift honey
Every month, within me I sense this ruinous storm
It’s not me honey, this phantom is Premenstrual Syndrome
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Growing Up
Poem
'Thinking of You'
I Think of You Before I go to Bed at night.
How I just can't wait. .to become your Wife.
I Imagine the Day both Far off and very Near,
Full of Joy. .and Oh so Pure.
We don't need it to be Picture Perfect. .
For our Love itself will make it so Divine.
And even if by Chance we May not Pursue that Night. .
It will be Alright. .
With Peace in Knowing we May Kindly Part Ways.
Because, in the End. .
I will Always be Yours. .
& You will Forever be Mine.
~Always&Forever
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