Plastic Guns

dust
dust as i play cricket day and night
ride my bike through by roads and more by roads
dark skin
darkened to a beach black by constantly being in the sun
friends
taunt you and you fight, alliances are formed
nothing unites except mutual hate
but that was play-hate
we'd all unite over a quick game. plastic guns.
shooting each other to glory
except i didn't own one
nope, no plastic guns for me
no guns no violence, my parents were adamant
no swaying them there.
I wonder if i am a different person because of it?
i wonder if all the kids who were allowed plastic guns are scarred in some way that i don't know of?
but it didn't last, so there is no point in wondering is there?
cos at my first b'day bash after 3 or four years, i was seven
i got some plastic guns, and my parents didn't have the heart to take them away.

So im not scarred am i? or am i just as scarred as you, and we don't see each other's scars.
cos they're probably normal to all of us.

Rock Saturday, my first experience with a joint
i didn't smoke one then though
my first would come later, with a girl, innocently stoned, nineteen years old.

I burned, the first cut was the deepest and yet
i learned

From plastic guns to my first joint
the road was a bumpy ride
walking in the sun cursing for a ride
crowded trains growing pains
the usual life
of a windblown kid, teenager, adolescent, adult
and im still growing.

here you go mixedblessings89, thanks for the tag i enjoyed writing it! and open tag, just start with something that reminds you of your childhood and take it from there..