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Kids Only

It's a place of splinters
but strangely it’s where I feel most comfortable
Built with sticks and stones
Where I go when words hurt me
From years in the past 
To the present
It has remained the same.
Trapdoor locked
Walls of rock
Blood stain on 
The board of triumph
One last pull to reach the top
Panting and hurt
Dirt and leaves in my Sunday clothes
Back soon sore against the unfeeling wood
It’s the same.
But it's different.
Easier to defeat
And cramped at the top
to make room for the memories
A breeze tangles and pulls at my locks
It whispers in my ear 
It’s time to move on, time to grow.'
I accept.
It's hasn't changed,
I have.

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Chris Green

Date: 4/25/2017 12:18:00 PM

I read this poem and was captivated by the feelings it posed, that safe haven that perhaps has changed but it will always be "that" place. Then I read your reply to Darren and it all made perfect sense. Your poem paints that thought wonderfully and reminds me of my own hiding spot, safe haven where I used to go when I needed a place to think. You are very talented.

Chris Green
Date: 4/25/2017 1:01:00 PM

Then based on that, it sounds like the perfect title to me.

Iris Blade
Date: 4/25/2017 12:45:00 PM

I am honored, thank you so much. When I finished this poem I was not sure of the title. I only had to close my eyes and imagine th fort to remember the broken sign at the top that holds the words 'Kids Only' in a red paint scrawl. I think we all have our own thinking spot, whether it be inside ourselves or a tangible place.

Darren White

Date: 3/10/2017 12:15:00 PM

I created a castle on the shore, whenever the world became too much I went there... And if I am perfectly honest, I sometimes still do

Iris Blade
Date: 3/10/2017 12:23:00 PM

Thank you for sharing your story, your castle sounds lovely! I do miss my fort. My dad built for me as a little kid. I go back sometimes for the memories of mud pies and fairy houses.