Am I a good writer (another original poem)?
They sit there smiling,
just little kids.
They laugh and talk about how they can't wait to grow up.
They lick their popsicle stained lips.
They are best friends.
That was back when they were eight years old.
Now they're sixteen and have grown older.
They know there is evil in this world,
they know that life is not perfect.
They confide in each other about things they regret.
Mistakes they've made,
things they've done.
Their innocence is lost.
They aren't those eight year old little girls anymore.
They don't play tag anymore,
or play barbies,
they don't have a secret handshake anymore,
they don't put clip-ins in their hair,
or worry about cooties.
Instead they talk about what they are gonna do with their lives,
what the latest gossip is,
what the latest style is,
the party they're going to that weekend,
and who their new boyfriend is.
At this age they've come to regret a lot of things they've done.
They wish they could turn back time.
They wish they would've made better decisions,
and wish they would not care if they are popular or not.
They aren't little kids anymore.