My mother told me, when I was little,
to stay away from fire.
When I was younger and got a paper cut,
my mother would kiss me to make it better.
Once, I got lost in the store when I was eight,
my mother looked for me everywhere and hugged me when I was found.

When I started going to school,
my mother would walk me to the bus and kiss me goodbye.
Once, when I came home with a scraped up knee,
my mother patched it up.
On a nice day in summer,
my mother took me on a picnic and made my favorite sandwich.

And then suddenly,
years went by.

Now, I am older,
I play with fire.
And when I get a cut or bruise,
there’s no one there to kiss it.
I am lost,
and there is no one there to find me and hug me.

School is worse; people hit me a lot,
and there’s no one to hug me before I leave on the bus.
And when I come home with scratches on my face,
there’s nobody to patch up the wounds.
And, in summer, I stay at home a lot,
and I can’t make my favorite sandwich.

There’s nobody left,
because I have grown up.
It’s just me now,
with scratches and unpatched wounds.
And growing up seems fun, but I’m telling you not to,
because it’s a trap.