How fast I wanted to turn 20,
And, on-and-off, how fast I want to rewind.
I feel a freedom
I’m not used to.
I’m bound
Because of my freedom:
To choose, to make many choice calls.

There are those
Who let me make decisions,
Yet those same people
Sporadically pour “suggestions”
My thinking ebbs in empty confusion.

I felt I held my collegiate throne well,
Until that feeling suffocated me:
Where am I going?
Where are my new social connections I expected?
I’m giving an all-out effort;
I never tried or would want to force an answer,
But answers never showed up.

My edition of 20:
Stranded on a social island
Of not a kid yet not quite a full-fledged adult.
“It’s so hard,” I moan sporadically.
Do I focus more on myself?
Is that selfish?
When I’m used to defaulting to care for others,
What effort it takes to come away,
But I know coming away more often
Can bring more of the best out of me
For when it will count most,
Not counting 20.