Balloon

 

When I was young I blew up a balloon

Shiny and perfect like a cartoon,

I tied it’s string to my wrist, strong and new

 Fearing it would leave when the wind blew.

 

Like my shadow it followed beside

Standing up tall, I grinned with pride.

It bobbed above me whenever I skipped

And it pulled me back up whenever I tripped.

 

But as time passed it was molded and grey,

Shrinking and wrinkling every day.

I patched it up with tape and glue,

Hoping somehow it would pull through.

 

With every year people come and go.

I watched some die and I watched some grow.

My wrist got bigger and the string became tight,

But yet I held on with all of my might.

 

There it was by my side forced to stay,

As seasons passed and the birds flew away.

People’s voices filled my mind

Telling me I couldn’t leave my balloon behind.

 

But soon it became heavy and my arm became weak

And my balloon was dirty, damaged and bleak.

I stared at it wondering what I would see

If I let it fly on its own away from me.

 

One day I stood up and I cut the string

Feeling the relief that it did bring

Releasing the weight I could finally see

That sometimes you have to let go to be set free.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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