An Old Soul
I’m not like other children my age.
The children my age are precarious fools,
Whose actions are unjustified.
I don’t understand why they do as they do,
But oh, children will be children, will they not?
I’ve now gained the nickname of ‘mother’
Because I see them hurt each other for no reason,
And I’ll always step in to tell them to stop.
I hear them spread rumours,
And I don’t believe a word they say.
I’m implicated about their futures,
As if they care about their futures.
All of the foolish teens are in agony,
So despite their absurdity I try to help.
They only stab me in the back in the end.
I don’t understand the children my age,
They are cruel, unsophisticated and hostile.
They hold such pain, yet they cause that pain in others. Why?
I hold pain and it only makes me want to erase any pain in others.
Why would having pain make you want to upset others?
I’m only fourteen yet somehow I’m older than those who are sixteen,
They’re little children who know so little about the world, compared to me.
I don’t understand them enough to befriend them, so I’m lonely
And the adults don’t enjoy being friends with a child like me.
Looks are deceiving; I feel like a cognizant ancient.
I try my best but I’ll never understand any of them,
It won’t happen; I’m not as old as I feel, I am stuck being an old soul.
poem by Lenore Lee
Added by Poetry Lover
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