The Problem With Polaroids
Memories of my childhood
are Polaroids of nostalgic cards
instant colored snapshots of my every action
from the day of my birth to the day I took my first steps
from the day I first started school to the day I learnt to ride a bike
I believed my childhood days would always be unfathomable
the most colossal deception about life living
that’s the problem I have with Polaroids
Birthday number eighteen
was the most unfavorable day of my puerile life
the once flashy, picturesque Polaroids of my childhood
slowly vanished into the dark and foggy stockade of heartbreak
before my very black eyes, while drizzling
unsweetened tears of a cheerless adulthood
that’s the problem I have with Polaroids
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