I look as if I am a five-year-old
I sit on the cold grey seat
of this L turned J
train and laugh
at the telltale smudges
along my fingers
simultaneously I am
embarrassed and endeared
by myself
when I held my hands up
to your face you grunted
faint approval
but when i chastised your
lack of enthusiasm and
threatened removal
you became adamant
that I should not give up
so easily
there is something comforting
in knowing that I can walk
into this school with preschool hands
and still be a senior
my yellow tipped fingers
cannot steal my years away
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