bumblebea

Is it the art or the artist

That is not good enough?

Why is it

That I only get praised for my art online?

Why is it

That I only get awards 

When the judges don't know me?

Should I be defined

Life is made of firsts and lasts. 

Your first breath,

When your parents hold you close.

Your first steps, 

When you can wander around alone.

Your first words, 

When I was four I wished for five, 

When I’d be in Kindergarten

When I was five I wished that preschool would come back again

Again at six I wished to age

At seven I wished the same

Up

Up

Up

Far from the ground

But farther still from the top

I'm tired but I can't let go

So I must just go up

I'm getting more impatient 

The more that I climb

"Perfect" said the critics 

"Awful" says the boy

"It tastes like diarrhea, oh how I hate bok choy"

But something 'bout his eyes make everything okay, 

Even if his food choices make me start to decay