I am twelve
My soul feels like forty.
I feel as if I am slowly fading into the air.
Sometimes my family is great but they symbolize a small room
Walls slowly moving in, crushing me.
Sometimes I gaze at fire
Watching the flames nip at the freshly cut wood
In reality I wish I was that fire
Always useful and eternal.
When I play sports it is as if I am on a plane
Flying away from my problems
Looking back at the stress and anger.
I am an angel with clipped wings
knowning I can fly
But never leaving the ground.
One day I will fly.