This is still a work in progress, but let me know what you think of it so far. Also, if anyone has any ideas for a better title, let me know.
Memories migrate into my thoughts
And I'm a child once again,
Smelling sliced lemons, doused in salt
There are no boundaries,
Even with stinging chapped lips
I still sucked out the sour excitement,
Of each lemon.
I'm skipping on slippery grass,
Feeling rain drops scamper down
My smooth skin.
Moms on the edge,
Afraid I'll trip and hit my head.
She panics yet again,
Though I hardly notice her fear.
Children can be careless.
The hardest part about writing poetry,
is trying not to write like everyone else.