Age, as it wasn't supposed to be.

[ttamsamyh]

Perfectly aware of the impending past
Pushing down on my chest like nothing has changed
And I don’t know that it has
Picture of the people that all look different,
I want to look different, maybe I did.

I am still afraid of my own shadow.
Despite my tolerance of fear, I think maybe that’s something that’s grown.
That would imply I am growing, which is sort of contradictory
To how small I feel, how big I was going to be.

Like the sky scrapers
I am sharp and tall and forever more
No I’m not, but I was going to be.

Maybe I will have stories
To explain all of my failures, someday
As inevitably, as I don’t change
Maybe I can come up with something
I’ll pin them only to the scars
That I wish I never got,
Only the scars I’d hate to pass along.

I shall wrinkle and rot
My mind slowly losing track of memories
like books I’ve read and filed and lost
I’ll recall them not as they were but as they’ve become
maybe stories can be all that I’ve got
The children won’t listen, just like I didn’t

Maybe I’ll listen to someone say something
Just in hopes someone young
Will someday listen to me
So maybe someone can feel movement
And not have to hate what they’re becoming.
But I doubt it.