Mama said “don’t inhale his fake tale” I listen not five I was, walked to the back cause we made a pact I wanted to “fit” in your life at the time I couldn’t take a hint
Sat on the seesaw waited not once was I elevated precipitation began as my anticipation to see you derail as my heart grew stale I walked inside with one muddy shoe with a heart that had no hue
Mama said “you are seventeen follow your own routine” I walked to the back with emotions that lacked
Stared at the rusty seesaw with a sad retrospective as I expected I fail to not become frail at its presence
It makes me ponder its existence and how yours is now unneeded, but it also makes me heated as not once did I saw the seesaw reach the heights that it can see.