Kinsey Peterson

I've always loved pretty things. 

Maybe that's why I never cared for the mirror- but that is beside the point.

I loved pink when I was younger, a colour so soft and yet so bold.

Purple is my favourite now. 

It doesn't look as meek.

I painted daffodils where now my sketchbooks are filled with eyes.

I used to hold up my sparkling fingers to tell people that I am four years old.

Nine times out of then I was holding up three fingers.

I can't hold up the number eighteen on my hands.

I'm off track again, damn it.

I like pretty things; sunsets, rainbows, rings, rocks that sparkle in the light.

Somehow those pretty things filled a part of me that was empty.

They gave colour to my world.

Now, at eighteen- everything looks gray.

My poems aren't about kittens and bunnies anymore.

I'm terrified of my future.

I want to be four again.

I don't want to see that the sunsets are all the same shades of pink.

I don't want to realize that daffodils are pale in colour.

I don't want to be eighteen. 

The world used to look so pretty.

Why doesn't it look pretty anymore?

  • Author: Kinsey Peterson (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 28th, 2023 15:02
  • Comment from author about the poem: Happy birthday to me.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 14
  • Users favorite of this poem: Bobby O, L. B. Mek, Ash :).
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  • sophin

    Happy birthday, fellow poet. It pains me to watch the vivid color fade from your world through the lenses of your beautiful words. However, I will offer you the solace that it will get better. Eighteen is a transitional stage where the colors of youth are wiped away, but soon will be replaced by a different palate of adulthood. Although the future may look bleak, have hope. I have faith that you will see color again.

  • Bobby O

    Two sides to all events. It’s a privilege to join as the parts entered that collect and direct the pain and circumstance you describe are the same entrances to the great list of potential delivered joy. Somebody way smarter than me talked about the greatness of humans and water and use of fire as most valued and beneficial that we as a race have at our disposal but yet Fire and Water are tied to much destruction. The double edged and irony falls in our life with no rancor but yet as sentient beings we can steer and therefore cheer for desired best results.

  • Neville

    Many belated birthday blessings .. (see, I've just done it again .. told ya it's a habit didn't I ) .. Anyway, welcome to the growed up world .. Now we both know it aint all smiley faces and fluffy bunnies but hey .. if we all do our bloomin best to be honest, kind and good .. (there I go again) .. we can make it just a bit brighter maybe .. Luved the poem by the way .. 🌹🌹🎶🎵🐧x

  • L. B. Mek

    'Somehow those pretty things filled a part of me that was empty.
    They gave colour to my world.
    Now, at eighteen- everything looks gray.
    My poems aren't about kittens and bunnies anymore.
    I'm terrified of my future.'
    such relatable and sincere wording
    of pilfering Time's, incessant plague
    affecting us, at our now
    of life..
    (Tomorrow's, conceptualised
    as our avenues to better
    before we place our head on pillows
    blank - dreamless or nightmare stained
    we arrive hours later, to a fate
    as yet, unforgiving
    instead of that promised better
    we're forced
    to face yesterday's problems, now
    even more pressure intensified
    since all that's happened is we've lost
    Time, to deal with them
    we look out, to a new days sunrays
    and realise
    tainted by all our accumulating anxiety
    our world is lacking vibrancy in both colour
    and ease of breath, serenity..
    just one thumb flicked post, that matches our vibe
    or song, that serenades our woe
    is all it takes, to revive our fight
    to insure, we survive
    till that promised, better in life
    stay strong, kind Poet
    you have a most talented poetic gift
    for expression without exaggeration

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