THE LAST DAY OF MY YOUTH, A POEM.
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The last day of my youth,
The death of spring’s trees.
An old weeping willow cries softly,
The young breeze mocking me.
An end of an era,
I thought I’d never see.
Not because of fear of war or disease,
Or an inching suicidality.
But juvenile and wide eyed,
The grass blades seemed for me made.
I cut my teeth on razors,
But the snakes wouldn’t bite.
Never thought I’d make it here,
I didn’t think growing so tall was possible.
I used to look up to the stars at night,
Now I stare at my bedroom wall.
I once went skipping rocks at the lake,
I remember the distinct pitter patter.
At parties we no longer play tag,
Missing the old, simple, chatter.
Tripping over rocks outside my friend’s bake,
With shades in hand, shaking drinks,
Why, outside of a cloud,
Has it become so hard for me to think?
Like floating on white atoms,
I never thought I could be this high in life.
I no longer have to look up to the sky in wonder,
When it’s become the bottom.
All the time, rusting inside,
Veins corroded by tainted blood.
Featherly falling through air,
A boy too close to the sun.
Aiming for the white of yesterday,
Landing atop the black of tonight.
I think I feel best wandering alone,
Swaddled in darkness I could get used to.
An abyss leaking out the neck of my back,
Falling deeper and deeper, because up is relative.
Pushed and shoved out of peaceful spring,
Into scornful now.
The monsters under my bed,
Could wake me from sweet dreams.
So why can’t the horrors of this life,
Wake me from my nightmare?
There was nothing lurking in the closet,
Just a shattered reflection of myself.
Like a locked door,
Confusion became certainty.
Thought I could avoid these things I am,
Now I see they were always inside of me.
Thoughts beaten and aspects repressed,
How I was stealing my own laughs.
Acceptance, an open wound,
I embody my grating personality.
Too harsh for too long,
Intentionally forgotten the meaning of self-censoring.
Weeping willows will always weep,
Nostalgia the heartbeat of the world.
Wish to change the way things were,
Can’t without changing me.
Grass is bending,
The sky a new angle.
Snakes hissing at my ankles,
But my head is past the trees.
My doubts direct me,
A Godly feeling the question of shaking knees.
The realization that the more I become myself,
The more they become me.
I’m not scared of the life that’s waiting,
I’m just afraid to take the leap.