The real world* they say
Why is that world so real?
What makes it different?
The trees?
The water?
The air?
No, that's not what you mean.
The feelings.
Yes, that is what you mean.
I do not know of serious emotions
because I am young.
I am young and inexperienced.
Love?
I'm merely a child!
A child feeling love?
Preposterous.
I know nothing of the sort.
I may have loved my parents, my grandparents, my friends
But no. I do not understand love.
Stress?
I'm merely a child!
A child being stressed?
Unheard of.
I know nothing of the sort.
Sure, my sanity, my grades, my happiness may be
slipping through my fingers.
But no. I do not understand stress.
Depression?
I'm merely a child!
A child being clinically depressed?
Impossible.
I know nothing of the sort.
Maybe I am too sad to get out of bed some days,
maybe I am in love with hating myself.
But no. I do not understand depression.
These emotions.
These issues,
to say the least.
They all contribute to this real world of yours.
But that world is for adults.
That world is for those who are mature enough to understand.
That world is for the middle-aged man,
Drunk and jobless, throwing his life away for the liquor cabinet.
That world is for the overworked business woman,
Bothered by her children, the children just desperate for love.
That world is for those who live
That world is for those who *experience
That world is not for me.
Nor you.
Nor the child in the treatment center.
Because we are young.