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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.

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