sam-miller
American
Asking a teenager to write their biography / Have you ever heard of something so absurd? / You cannot ask us about our life / When we have barely lived one third. / / I will not write my biography, / I will not tell you who I am. / Because I do not know my story / Any better than a Christmas ham knows that it’s ham. / / We are still babies, / Fresh and innocent in the eyes of the world. / Maybe not so naïve as they would believe us, / But that doesn’t change the state of our swords. / / Unfinished, raw materials, / Waiting to be molded and shaped / Waiting for the right moment / To wield these swords and escape. / / I cannot tell you about myself, / But I can give you this gift. / A haphazard poem about biographies, / To be read with patience and thrift.
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