#childhood poems on Hello Poetry

O s t a r a 𓇼𖦹 1d

I’m scared.
Scared I’ve been too vulnerable.
Scared I trusted too much.
Scared I’ve gotten my hopes up.

I should have known by now
nothing this good is ever real
Nothing ever has been.
Nothing ever will be.
And it’s time to accept that.

I have always been disappointed,
since I was a little girl,
and somehow,
I have made peace with that.

But this time,
this time I want it to be different.
I want it to stick.
I want you to stay.

I’m sorry I love too strongly,
too loudly,
too much.
But there’s something about you
something I can’t explain.

I have never felt safer before,
and yet,
I have never been more terrified.

I’m scared I will let down all my walls,
let you in,
only for you to look around
and decide you don’t like what you see.

I’m scared I’ll scare you away.
I’m scared you’ll be like everyone else.

I’m scared.
I want it to stick.
I want you to stay.

This is a poem about me, its quite vulnerable. I have no old ties and connections, my oldest friendships are no more than 4 years, I never had friends growing up, and I always thought that my family hated me (they never did)

But this is specifically about my current friends, I love them so much and I'm scared that history will repeat like it always does <3

#scared #fear #love #platonic #romantic #childhood #tennage #longing

Zywa 1d

[ I threw my suitcase ]

I threw my suitcase

into the hole and I jumped --

back into my youth.

Poem "Fakkel" ("Torch", 2018, Bart Chabot)

Collection "Being my own museum"

#childhood #memories

Zoe G 1h

memories

it smells like the smoke of a barbecue in my grandparents' backyard,
the perfume my brother pretended to be allergic to so i wouldn't buy it,
the kitchen before christmas dinner

it tastes like the pumpkin and feta bread my mother used to make,
the blackberries from my grandmother's tree,
the fish and chips on saturdays

it sounds like all the dumb youtube videos,
the songs blasted on the small cd player on the desk,
the conversations that blend together over dinner

it looks like the rollerblades with a broken strap,
the overgrown garden we could get lost in,
the playground with the train

it feels like collapsing on the couch after marathoning the one just dance song we know off by heart,
like laughing until our chests ache and crying until the same,
like looking back and wishing i still knew all these things

i had a terrible realisation yesterday of the passage of time and that it just goes on. i think there are too many things i will miss

#nostalgia #childhood #memories

Sanji-Paul Arvind 4d

Peoples of the 1980's to 90's

We are the last generation,
A couple of years, we will be extinction.
We never wore helmet,
Riding bicycles with whole heart.

We played outside without fear,
Knowing none will bother.
We never drank from plastic bottles,
A gulp anywhere, as it wasn't fatal.

Drinking water from water springs,
Without worrying with playful flings.
Shared our toys with others,
As all were our sisters and brothers.

No Security fences,
Not knowing what was offences.
We never had medicine cabinets,
Healthy eating, our regular habits.

Stalking our crushes,
Sending them unknown wishes.
True love was like a heaven,
Generations will miss those haven.

Eating all the chocolates & sweets
Not bothered about obesity, as it was treats.
No brand shoes, walking with bare foot,
playing, jumping & running, always cute.

Ate real and healthy food,
Each chosen by parents for our good.
Never knew what supplements were,
Even doctors medicine was rare.

Made our playing things,
With scarps, mud, sand and all things.
Gliding through the slides,
in playground, no security nor guards.

No phones, computers, Nor PlayStation
Had real friends, our plays, full of action.
The only tablet we had, when were sick,
We had many things to play, with no logic.

Going to school with backpacks,
Carrying the load of notebooks,
Getting beaten with cane sticks,
Escaping from teachers, were real tricks.

No calling or prior texting,
Surprise for friends, us visiting.
Relatives lived closely,
With love & bonding, made ties, as a family.

Photos were in Black and white,
We were always looking bright.
But the memories, were colorful,
Each moment we spent was cheerful.

Not worried about colors nor looks,
By age and numbers we were hooked,
We shall be remembered, as the last generation,
Who were filled with real human emotion.

We gave keen attention to our elders,
Whom we considered our life ladders,
Listening to flashback stories,
With grandparents, our memories.

An unmatched generation,
Which makes us responsible,
In sharing all things wonderful in life,
As the next don't spend theirs in grief.

Lets return to the basics,
To teach old ways of life and to fix.
Stop wasting time, for tv's and screens,
Care and love others, is what life means.

Put them gadgets down, and rise,
Start to look in each others eyes.
Take off your shoes, don't get spoiled,
Step your foot out, feel the soil.

Often, Use Thank You,
as a gratitude, make it a habit, new.
Involve with people, say I love you,
You will not regret, even if you have a few.

We the peoples,
born during 1950's to 90's,
We aren't special,
but a limited edition models.

Inspired by a post by Beautiful Words

#childhood #memories #school #1980 #1990 #kids #life #lessons

Franky Case 5d

Do You Remember

Do you remember
All the dandelions blown away in the wind?

Do you remember
All the waves that have splashed onto us from the ocean?

Do you remember
All the stars you would try counting at night?

Do you remember
All the cloud shapes you would make while looking at them in awe?

Do you remember
All the memories made when you were oh so young?

No, you don't
Because it all started slipping away.

Do you remember?

#childhood #family #memories

Steve Page 6d

My home is so unmoved

My third home is so unmoved.
It stays as recalled
smelling of the comfort of the first and last
as if to harbour memories regardless
of age, refusing to release its hold,
it stands so full of heart,
with echoes of dinner

with steam lifting from hefts
of potatoes and withered veg,
an adamant replay of checkered tablecloths
and brown orange tableware,
long cracked and stacked. You see how it was.
Close your eyes and hear the scrapes
of plates, the kettle.
And that veined mug.

After ‘A home is so sad’ by Philip Larkin (The Whitsun Weddings)

#home #childhood #memory

Steve Page Apr 20

I come from

I come from stand-up strong tea, delivered before 7 with a ‘don't think about sleeping in’ fading down the stair. I come from cornflakes with full cream benefits and fuller if you got down quick, before Dad shook the milk.

I come from warming up the telly in time for Crackerjack and Crossroads and the nearest of us having to get up cos we had no remote control. I come from snooker in black and white and the thrill of the shouts of wrestlers' faux fights. I come from aerial adjustments to the family seating in unity before the fat, three-channel TV.

I come from tempers and broken locks, with threats of knocking your block off. I come from being ******* at sports and seeped in feelings of coming up short. I come from hereditary parenting, watery eyes, and the cushion of mum’s white lies. I come from family trips with back seats sun-baked, and travel sickness triggered by the waft of St Bruno Flake.

I come from first gen suburbanites, budget tensions and dad's three jobs when things got tight. I come from the garden turned vegetable patch with biting rhubarb, rubber runner beans and the stench of stewed cabbage. I come from a street in open plan, common homes and gardens, one good-or-ill clan.

And if I could, I’d plan a street-long celebration: Party Sevens and Tizer and shades of beige food for every occasion. I’d put on the gramophone with Joe Loss All Time Party Hits and no room to spare, with the kettle on repeat and mum's Tupperware full of broken biscuit bits.

And over mis-matched tea mugs, I’d tell them I’m okay, I’ve moved to find my own way. I’d assure them that blood is still thicker, but do me a favour and get over me living north of the river.

From an exercise suggested by The Poetry lounge, London.

#childhood #heritage #memory

Sarayu Apr 18

The weight of growing up

Where is the side of me that faked tears but never a smile?
Where is the side of me that lied about having a fever instead of hiding it?
Where is the side of me that poured out every problem instead of carrying them alone?
Where is the side of me that blamed home food instead of craving it?
Where is the side of me that spoke without fear instead of swallowing my words?
Where is the side of me that fought instead of walking away in silence?
Where is the side of me that ran into crowds instead of seeking solitude?
Where is the side of me that answered endless questions instead of questioning my own existence?
Where is the side of me that cried over the smallest things instead of smiling through the pain?

Somewhere along the way, I lost that childhood.
Somewhere, I let its innocence slip through my fingers.
Somewhere, I turned my dreams to ashes and let the Ganga carry them away.
Somewhere, I buried my laughter beneath the weight of expectations.
Somewhere, carefree days turned into sleepless nights.
Somewhere, age and responsibility silenced the child within.
A carefree childhood faded,and a responsible adulthood took its place.
Yet, in the quiet corners of my heart ,that child still knocks, still whispers, still waits...

Hoping, one day, I will open the door again.

But how can I tell that the door will never open again?
How can I tell that the path has closed
forever?
How can I tell that it all came to an end long ago?

#childhood #adulthood #pain #emotion #responsibility