I’m a virginal artist and I’m breaking out
So save your critique till I’ve grown
Till I’ve learnt to fly… A little
Don’t clip my teenage wings,
I’m not out to solve your problems
This isn’t a race to be bruised
Or put in my place
So if you don’t get the point!
…Of me or my songs my young voice
It’s not my fault it’s not as though…
I’ve out-grown out-sized my shoes,
I’m a virginal artist and I’m just breaking-out
But it doesn’t mean I like to lose
Or feel prematurely angry betrayed or confused
So save your critique till I’ve grown
Everything in life doesn’t have to rhyme
Or end with you!
What did you ever do that compares?
To the waves I’ve already made…
Dedicated to Nina Nesbitt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem