Like A Knife Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I was so young
And callow
Sleep-deprived
It hurts like a knife.

I remember wanting
To play hide-and-seek
But the rain was madly
Cascading on the still streets
And the children
Are either looking at the windows,
Pale and wry or
Asleep, coiling on their beds.

It’s the rain,
And the outdoors
Intermixing with
The desire to meander
Under the feverish Sun
That hurts more

But I’ve grown
Like an ivy squirming.
And the rain,
The lulled trellis,
Etcetera

They don’t hurt me
Anymore,
And never will.