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I shed my skin many years ago.

At the back of those high trees in junior school.
That never ever seemed to grow gold in autumn.

It’s still there I bet – petrified. Old. stone skin.
Knees supporting a chin somehow still held high.
With a muddy arse on blooded school trousers.

Just still lacking whatever that place kept
Telling me I lacked.

We are different people him and I
He is my Bukowski’s bluebird
The boy I nurture and protect. As me and my own.

No one sees him – no one hurts him.

Only problem is –
He tells me what he used to tell everybody
“I’m fine, nothing to worry about, I just fell over”

I wish I didn’t know any different.

© Chris Flame 2013

*****

A message to a younger self, and a reflection on current woes, “Don’t worry, kid” is a poem which strikes deep into the darker side of growing up and life itself. A personal, reflective piece by Chris Flame, this is a poem that will be familiar to many who read it. A dark, brilliant piece of confessional poetry by this young writer from the UK.

If you want your poetry featured on this blog and our upcoming, new site, then send us an email with your poetry in the body of the text, to info@dagdapublishing.co.uk

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