Look at me,
I'm twenty two,
Im still scared of the many things I do.

ranting is foolish now,
aging transforms you somehow.

The old pacifier is replaced with stacks of cigarettes.
the old milk bottle turned into towers of coffee cups.

The bruises in my knee are countless,
from childhood clumsiness,
to mature foolishness.
if my scars would tell you stories,
it would be endless.

here I am,
turning twenty three.
I am way past adolescence,
and walking in the thin line of maturity.

if only a man could see,
what lies ahead in that smoky path.
what a power to have,
what a power to grasp. . .