Too early

It was, is it not?
"No, you're wrong,"
I keep saying this to people;

Do I even stand correct?
Surely not.

I'm...
not yet.

Don't say it,
It doesn't feel so rewarding;
I'm not on a road
I am lost

Uncertain, and probably
delusional...
that's me

I'm standing still
it scares me that I can't move

Am I growing
or was I not?

Maybe, I thought I was.

What's with the words I speak?
I desperately think yet,
it cannot be written in ink

words are at the brink
of emptiness
so deep

What is wrong with me?