feast for the ancestors who were famished
embrace the familiar damage
bisou bisou, thankful for the room
used to be so stuffy in the old place
i left my feelings of inadequacy in my old ways
old space, watch the page turn
displace metaphors about the days turn
is getting older just getting further from my innocent joy?
is getting older just pretending that i feel joy?
a glimpse of it underneath the books that weigh heavy on my brain
trying to understand everything but neglecting vain
trying to fulfill the expectations expected of me
for my ancestors who were famished
i am grateful for the feast