Don't Tell me I'm too young
That I'm just a hormonal teen
Who will look back on this moment
And admit I was being ridiculous
Maybe, twenty years from now
I will look back and laugh

But right now
Regardless of my lack of adult memories
Or the biological chemicals pumping through my veins
What I feel now
Is very real to me

When you say I'm too young
You treat me like a pet
Incapable of understanding human things
Maybe I do think very differently
Than an adult
But regardless
I'm still a person
Just like you

Please try and remember
How you felt
When you were my age
Without filtering your memories

You were once my age
And, in turn
Someday I will be your age
The teenagers of today
Are the actors
Scientists
musicians
Singers
Authors
Presidents
Farmers
Bankers
­Teachers
And parents
Of the future
The future that you fantasize about
And say will be amazing and advanced
With bizzare, yet wonderful, futuristic languages, fashions, and ideas

Yet when you see the people
Who will, in the next few years,
Being about the sci-fi era
You call our fashions ridiculous
You call our slang sloppy
And when we try to share our new ideas
You call us crazy
You tell us we're too young to know enough
To have valid ideas

But maybe, this world needs a generation
With a fresh mind and view
people who have
Less preconceived notions
To overcome

So please,
Spare me the talk
That reveals only how little you know about us

Don't tell me I'm too young
To know who I am
And what I want
Just try and remember
That your generation
The one who currently runs the world
That you were once my age, too

I spent my boyhood avoiding
      the disgrace of my differences.
Creating alternate empires that
      I ruled with stoic passion.
I gave out negative vibrations, as a boy,
      to control the level of association.
Built walls and lived within them,
       perfectly encased in sarcastic wisdom.
Does not take too long to understand
       that being yourself is not suggested.
Eager advocates educate the boy that his
      differences must be suppressed.
Be the same. Be the same. Be the same.
      Moulded and conformed, unaware
of the boyhood desiring to think for self.
       I spent my boyhood reading books
that opened libraries of imagination.
      Absorbing the solitary creations
of so many magnificent lives. They presented
      me with echoes of alternatives.
I never have understood the slicked back
      membrane of uncentred filters.
Solitary self-confinement made so
       much more tickled sense to me.
I passed out scented cigars of me
       to ear-drums inclined to not listen.
They agreed to, and supported,
       the numbness of not thinking.
Letting the self-declared prophets
       dictate how we must believe.
I spent my boyhood being the boy
      that did not fit the paper model.
Set it on fire. Set it on fire. Let the
       message always be that a man
must indicate his own set of standards.

And the sea got me hooked like an addict,
Offering me pills that sooth and comfort,
Pills that leave me in fantasy and get me so deep,
This drug is letting me lose,
Making me build castles as large as the White House,
Let me drown in you forever,
For there is no cure to this addiction.