To Spell Your Name- Formally Brave Poetry Collection 7/10

I found an old photo of myself.

Four or five years old, definitely not six.

With a bowl hair cut, brown strands blowing in the wind.

Holding a dandelion to my chin, a soft yellow reflection caught by the camera.

I stare now into my young eyes, innocent.

Before the years of being jaded, as they are now. Hazel eyes to hazel eyes.

Catching point was not my youth, or tacky jean jumper.

It wasn’t the wonder of us appearing as two different people.

In this photo, I didn’t know how to spell my name. Now, I wish it weren’t my name.

That wasn’t the draw. The appeal, was the hospital bracelet hugging my small wrist.

The circular band representing eternity, yet I have no memory of it.

The truth had floated away on the breeze, just as the dandelion seeds had. Just as the years that shaped me to who I am today, have.

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