When we greW
When we were young, we felt the eroded, chalk doodled driveway pad the footsteps of our youth, and the inky tulips mother grew that grazed our calves wobbling in uncertainty due to the threat of venomous vipers lurking upon the inner depths of the freshly cut lawn grazing with the humid summer wind, and mangled stands of my curly brunette hair twisted like a tornado blurring the vision my translucent blue eyes aided in my navigation to bring you to safety. When we were young, your mangled, chewed down nails indented my delicate pale skin, leaving remnants of soil smeared like a water colored sunset on a canvas of human flesh, and your eyes pooled with fear, threatening to leak from the outermost corners of your emerald irises, longing for assistance. When we were young, I realized our relationship was an uncommon feature that was new-found to the cul-de-sac shared upon the judgmental eyes of our neighbors. When we were young, I sacrificed the innocent, obedient child reputation mother brought me up to fulfill, only to ask the shifting eyes of our neighbors to stop looking at you funny. Only when we were young.
As we grew, your voice staggered between pitches, often cracking in the midst of every other sentence, your dark, cherry wood hair began to grown in shaggy strands, concealing the lightly, red spotted forehead erupting from acne, and you began to stagger over the little girl who used to guide you through the tulip bed, putting her own safety on the line for her troubled brother, and you only seemed to grow thinner from the pills snatching away the appetite you longed to have like all the other kids in school, and the twinkle once present in your now sea foam tinted eyes dulled in a trance of uncertainty and anxiety. As we grew, the protective instincts I had adapted from birth intensified as you aged due to the trepidation of other students judging for each and every flaw my soul learned to love, or in the manner that you’d learn to reject the flaws in which made you a unique individual that unified our family through love. As we grew, you shielded yourself from those who loved you most in hopes of creating an exclusive safe haven consisting of only single element, yourself. As we grew, I learned I abandoned the most important thing in my life for you, myself. Only as we grew.
As we grew, your voice staggered between pitches, often cracking in the midst of every other sentence, your dark, cherry wood hair began to grown in shaggy strands, concealing the lightly, red spotted forehead erupting from acne, and you began to stagger over the little girl who used to guide you through the tulip bed, putting her own safety on the line for her troubled brother, and you only seemed to grow thinner from the pills snatching away the appetite you longed to have like all the other kids in school, and the twinkle once present in your now sea foam tinted eyes dulled in a trance of uncertainty and anxiety. As we grew, the protective instincts I had adapted from birth intensified as you aged due to the trepidation of other students judging for each and every flaw my soul learned to love, or in the manner that you’d learn to reject the flaws in which made you a unique individual that unified our family through love. As we grew, you shielded yourself from those who loved you most in hopes of creating an exclusive safe haven consisting of only single element, yourself. As we grew, I learned I abandoned the most important thing in my life for you, myself. Only as we grew.