All the grown-ups say
that someday,
you will be as big
and tall as me.
You will wear these pants,
this shirt, these shoes.
That you will have the
colonial and collie
safe in the suburbs.
That you will
have offspring that have
your nose and eyes,
because that's what
you were born to do.

All the grown-ups
omit
that growing up
is about
choices.

The choice to
look as you feel.
The choice to
severe all your ties
and run free.
The choice to
experiment with drugs
to finally learn
some valuable information.
The choice to bravely
march forward in life
alone.
Or the choice to
reprise the role the
grown-ups have already played.

They mourn
their fleeted youth,
their abled bodies,
and their lost sense of wonder
in the world,
doing whatever they can
to reincarnate themselves
in the young
so they will not be forgotten;
to have us avoid
the mistakes
they have made.

But what they really yearn for
was the time
when all they had
were choices.