Moving on feels a lot like forgetting you existed with me
And finding creative ways to exclude you from a story.

Growing up feels a lot like consequences from old actions
And finally getting around to kicking bad habits.

Reaching dreams feels a lot like stress and pain
And doing every job for a spare bit of change.


Educating myself feels a lot like wasting time
And looking for interests I know I won't find.


Self-healing feels a lot like strategic avoidance
And re-bottling things how the therapist thinks is best.

Maturity feels a lot like a looser tongue and desperation
And emptying onto someone in hopes that they'll understand.

Living feels a lot like survival by and of those least fit to
And pretending I've got it sorted until someone tells me that I do.