Growth

No tree bends the same,
No individual grows in a uniform frame,
No branch sprouts equal leaves,
No person has a similar seek,
I see the world through my glasses,
You see it through yours,
Then why do you expect me to grow;
With eyes as an another,
Gray is my world through them,
Blind am I through those seams.

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741