Knees and Me
By: Ezekiel Gonzales
Roaming with thoughts of Daffodils and pretty lilacs
The common sense I lack drips from the blood
of my scraped knee
Tears of fears
One’s that hold close, ready to take action
Too old, I’ve become
When the time comes for the inner child, it jumps from the swing—only for a scraped knee
One word from the thing beneath
And I’ll swing once again
I can’t breath when you see the little me
That holds chained fences and melts under your gaze
The child that you’ve seen is nothing but a tall child
