I Am Twelve Years Old

[trevor-zero-six]

I lie in bed in my red pajama bottoms.
It is Saturday morning and no one knocks on my door to wake me up.
Mom is at work and I am alone.
I go into the kitchen and put cereal in a bowl.
There is no milk because Mom forgot to buy some.
She does not always do the right thing.
She says she is overwhelmed.
I eat the cereal dry.

The apartment is small.
The furniture is not ours.
I go into the hall and stare into the mirror that is not ours.
The sun comes through the window and lights up my hair.
I shine.
I am golden.
My eyes are sky.
My skin is sensation.
I touch myself.
I am warm.
The mirror whispers my name.
Jakob.

[Shale]

I am new to this forum, but I guess we are expected to comment on things we notice. I just clicked on this and really liked it.

Poetry is sometimes very personal and speaks to the poet more than anyone else. That is what I write - and may post here - words that have meter and meaning to me that others may or may not understand.

This I understood. I was there in that apartment, looking in that mirror and seeing the morning sun. The image I had may not have been exactly yours, but I actually saw those things. I liked it.

[trevor-zero-six]

I appreciate you taking the time to write. No one else did. Since this was my first visit to this forum, I certainly did not know what to expect. Your note at least gave me some hope.