Growingup Poems - Poems about Growingup

What hurts more than the fact I didn’t get to say goodbye Is the fact They’ll never see what I become....

Continue reading...

For it to… For it too— Four and two. Forty-two! A number?—or a gate? Where past meets present, And dreams no longer wait— Fighting, and finding—their rightful place. For it to… For it too— Four and two?! Forty-two! An age where silence breaks, Where the pen takes its...

Continue reading...

Who am I, but a woman with atlas's burdens on her shoulders. Who am I, but a little girl trying her best in life's arena. Who am I, but a flower waiting to bloom in withering winter. Who am I, but an impostor trying to find balance in the injustice and fog. Who am I, but structured stardust in the blazing sun....

Continue reading...

Did you know that it is dinner, my dear? You forever in your room thee door shut. You needeth join us, lend a willing ear? Thee father has great stories of wisdom. You make your ears always deaf to our speech, Refusal brings no supper to your plate. Ungrateful child, listen to your dad preach, Remember, child, we are your...

Continue reading...

I’m from the smell of cafe con leche dancing around the house and los primos already full of energy in the backyard. I’m from guava and cream cheese crackers for breakfast and the constant sound of abuela saying “come mas mi vida”, I’m from the smell of fabuloso and mama’s radio never failing to wake the family up on...

Continue reading...

What colors would my life shine if we had not moved all the time? In every home, I felt quite sure my bedroom walls felt me there; as eyelids sighting proof I had lived, they'd hold my poetry as their truth. Then would come the cardboard boxes that unlike walls, did hold my life's causes. Past walls of white, yellow, blue and pink all...

Continue reading...

SING LITTLE SUNFLOWER Sing little sunflower sing, It is the middle of spring Shine your face to the Son, Your gifts are a little more than one. Your mother is Ebony, your father, white rose. Doesn't matter what some think, when God truly knows Our share of sorrows, we shall rightfully own, The harvest we reap, are from the seeds we...

Continue reading...

Dedicated to my Billy-bro Do you still search mirrors, looking for me? Do you now look outward–in to where you were, but have never really been? Like a stubborn cobweb, you dust my tired mind and pool my older tears as my feelings rewind. You sought to be lost upon untreaded paths ...

Continue reading...