There is a line
between young and old,
it separates children from adults,
and it is infinite in its definition.
I am 16, 17, 18,
and I am old enough to have
Those Nights
that go on for days, months, years
(and I am also old enough to know
that they never end, only pause
for seconds and minutes).
I am five and I am being scolded
with sharp words and a slap on
the wrist,
but the next second I am
23 and closing my eyes,
whispering regret for hasty
actions unfounded.
I am old enough to know
it isn’t you against the world,
but me against life,
that vindictive *****
but young enough to still
point my finger at her
invisible, irrevocable force
and blame her for my problems.
I am 34 and shaking my head
at the whimsical sighs of my peers,
and I am 21 dreaming big dreams,
big enough to fill a real-life snow globe.
And hell, sometimes I feel older than
the Tree of Life,
and sometimes I feel youth running
through my veins like fire.
I am old enough to know
that I don’t know anything,
and young enough to act like
I know everything.
But I am so knowledgeable,
because I know the worth in books
and learning and truth
and won’t take opinions as facts,
and I am so wise because I see these
mistakes that children and adults alike
make and repeat, and never learn,
but I am so ********* stupid,
ignorant, foolish for taking gold
that isn’t real.
I am 50 years ahead of my generation
and ten years younger in virtue alone.
Where do I fall?
Where do I fall?
Into the giant chasm between
where knowledge isn’t worth a penny
and stupidity can **** you.
I am stuck here
eight, eight-teen, eighty
moving between past and present
like a wraith.
I stand, fight, fall,
breakbendbreathe,
inhale, breathe, breathe,
don’t stop, not ever,
but God, breathing is the hardest part.
But I have to, keep breathing,
in and out, one at a time,
and even when I can’t anymore
I’ll be breathing in memory, conviction, faith
because I am not a number,
but all of them at once,
and I am here in this Great Divide
I call my lonely own
and I am ageless and breathing.