The Child

 When I was a child, I wondered why I am not the same,

        The same as others who have food to enjoy and not accept,

            Like the ones who have so much but still felt something's lacking,

                Nonetheless, I always put a smile on my crummy face,

                    Despite the fact that I'm different, I am but to be kept.  

                I may have run to the mountains and seen what's in store for me.

                    Slide down from the mountains and green grass wounding the young me,

                        I have learned that going up has its toll and true promises,

                            Witheld the majestic view of the top and decided to keep it stored in my heart.

As a child, I smelled and felt the breeze of running outside, 

    The smiling faces and memories of my innocent friends, 

        The bawling and clamor of our wounded elbows and knees,

                Time passed, as to where, how, and what do we run for, now?

My heart has been ripped by the confused love and growing pains, 

    Bleeding inside and the child has covered with an iron fence,

        Protecting its delicate nature and  stainlessness,

            I have come to know how to treat my inner child with care.

I will now run for the mountains with hope and various dreams, 

    Without scaring the child of spurious joy and rejection,

        That it is okay not to possess what others possess, 

            That we're all unique, each doted with an exact purpose.