Coming of Age

Do you remember your youth,
The way it really was?
No.
Your experience isn't "the way it really was"-
There is no such thing as truth.

I am not wild. There is complexity in a smile.
There is complexity in every tooth in every opalescent face.

It is a rainy day. It is gray in a city. Black umbrellas open simultaneously.
They are not the same. They are fabric, woven, slick and sincere.
This is the definition of sonder.

It is a shame not to know. Not to record.
Not to inscribe what
Little we have for ourselves.
We will not remember, but we will not forget.
Perhaps we regret.

I am just thinking, vagabond's thoughts,
Juxtaposed. Just a pose. Just a phase.
Do you know me? I do. This is what I know:

Girls in white cotton dresses, Tumbling, toppling
Take your shirt off, peeling and crumbling,
This is the beauty. This is the laughter.

"I'll always think you're lying."
"I know."
Who they are and what they are overlap,
Though I will always try to open my eyes.
This is the confusion. This is the puzzle.

Cherubic hearts pound on the flesh,
A soul full of fingers clasps on sight
The space might be filled or not.
This is the bond. This is the break.

I am a passenger in a car that is built to crash.
I am screaming. I am speeding.
I am painfully aware.
This is the end. This is the fear.

This is my coming of age.

Reviews

[alifeacoustic]

beautifully written.

It is a shame not to know. Not to record.
Not to inscribe what
Little we have for ourselves.
We will not remember, but we will not forget.
Perhaps we regret.

This is a wonderful verse. It isn't others that forget who we are, it is ourselves.
Thank you for sharing. I really enjoyed reading it.

[Emily]

Thank you so much!

[alifeacoustic]

You're very welcome