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: 

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