Why are you in such a hurry to grow up,
To wear make-up, lipstick or prance around in a suit?
How 'adult' is it now that you can talk without coughing with a cigarette perched between your lips?
Does any one or any thing still care that you can drink beer -- Besides your liver?
Is that your wife over there?
Oh please tell me it is all that it was cracked up to be, or were you simply on the clock?
Was it all worth the wait having someone call you 'Daddy', 'Mummy'?
Is it the heaven you expected? Or just another addition to the banal?
Mister and missus unfamiliar.
And why are you now frantically trying to pull on the reins?
Do you think you can now command time to stop after beckoning for so long that it go faster?
And to do what? Command your white hairs to grow black, Or coax both your breasts to snap back to their original form?
Is this truly 28 going on 35? And when will you be 39 going on 50?
Ha! I have no sympathy for your plight.
Such things I hold deep inside, as though thrust into my pockets in a tightly closed fist.
It is cruelty, I know. And you, now filled with self-pity, as I have been,
When wave upon wave of the likes of you beat upon my back,
Pressuring me to stumble, fall forward and be swept away by the pressure to 'grow up'
Carried away foolishly to the logical conclusion:
Death is upon us all. There is no need to call out to it.
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