By Bluegrass

[busker]

Nestled in freckles,
my pocket eyes are green
Mom told me, some colors
Are made for reading
not changing 
words
but I can’t help it,
but slip over pebbles
 like how that river
makes an ocean
by the tune of bluegrass

I was 5 years old once
I took a knife and was
an etch in a cedar sapling
Now I drag my pinky
In those ridges until
My hands realize
the nickname only
dad remembers

In green I spent
A lifetime
Or 5 minutes
Truth is a heartbeat
because turning 6 feels like 
the end
and an escape
that will never
ask you when

The portion in bold is well done. It recalls a specific episode with sufficient sensory details. A good example of show, don’t tell.
I do have a problem with the cedar sapling though. A young tree I’d be willing to believe, but not a sapling. You don’t go about cutting them.

The rest of the poem has the occasional nice image, but the absence of punctuation makes it hard to follow what is being said.
The portion after “turning 6 feels like the end” is almost comical in its seriousness.
The nickname that only dad remembers is enough theme for a poem about memory