Poetic Relapse.

Without Realization.

These nights have began to get shorter and these days, more stressful. My mind finds it difficult to comprehend the effects of literature in the afternoon and I find my mind destroying itself less later and more soon. These textbooks no long seem relevant in my eyes and only the idea of moving out before I'm twenty five and getting a job and living a life that I'm not ready for.

I wish to be able to design my own apartment or basement suite with greys and Mint greens and have one bedroom and one bed but two sets of shoes, one size 8.5 and one size 6.2. I wish to be able to be looked at on the street and though of as a man as opposed to a child, only being connected to words like wild and incompetent but these thought don't stop with non-violence.

I wish to pay bills, and stress about not having enough cash to pay for my meals, I wish to have to grocery shop at the dollar store because my paycheck was a hundred too short and I wish to hate my job at 35.

I wish to know where my money goes and I wish to have a son or daughter sneak out behind the back of their father only to know that I already found out.

I want responsibility.

I do not want, "You're too young to know about this kind of stuff." and, "Don't worry about it, let us take care of it." to be quite frank, I'm sick of it.

I find myself being allured by the simple thought of paying my own bills and buying my own food and living with someone who pays half the rent or less than I do and I wish we would fight about how little they contribute because that's what being an adult is like.

At the ripe age of almost seventeen I find myself despising the age gap between boy, and man.