When I was seven
I asked my aunt how she knew that there was a god.
She told me
To go wait in the car.

When I was twelve
I asked my teacher
Why so many cultures that never intersected
Thought their gods wanted human blood.
He told me
To go sit at my desk.

When I was fifteen
I asked my peers
If they thought heaven and hell
Were manmade.
They told me
To talk about something else.

Apparently
This is not a world for questions.

But
Last week I asked my friend
If maybe this is hell
And we are being punished
And we fear death because it is our release
And we are not meant to have that until we are broken.
I asked
If maybe instead
This is heaven
And this is the best we will get
And nothing is ever so simple as
Good
Or evil.

But
She told me to stop asking questions
That scared her.

"I'll wait for you,"
when we were kids,
you had said.

But Jack's still comatose
and Jill is dead.

You never came.

Everybody lies, darling.
You've just gotta choose who is worth playing the fool for.

I see the changes
            At times they are clear

Other times, they seem to pass right by me...

I am growing...
               Maturing...
                     Changing...

I am becoming a stereotype
                          Just not the one  I thought I'd be...

Breaking rules,
               Sneaking out,
                          Telling lies,
                                   Cheating...

The list seems to continuously grow longer

            Is that bad?
                                    Or good?

                   I don't even know anymore