Epiphany
Sixteen years of Age
Life is flying
Page by page.
Each month a new
Chapter, each day a new
Page. Each page brings
A new sting
To my arm;
It's covered in
Scars from previous
Pages, previous months.
Chapter 9, I moved.
New house, new people,
Senior year. 17, short,
Sad. Why be sad
In my last year of
Childhood?
No more new
Scars added, no new
Numbing, just
Self-loving.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: