Thinking About Random Stuff

Frick. (Yes this was the title I gave the poem I wrote with a class)

I am not a child.

Do not treat me as if I am nothing.

As if I am stupid.

I am more than the number you have so callously placed upon my brow.

My words are not the angst of a teenager.

My ideas are not the conformity to human nature.

I am not a child, don't treat me as one.

If you must stare at me with such disdain, at least do so for a reason.

If you do not wish to listen, just turn away.

I do not ask for anything more than the truth,

But you just nod and smile in agreement.

I am not a baby that needs to be coddled.

I am not a toddler who's learning to walk.

I am not the child that I once was,

So can you just give the fuck up?

...

Ah. I see. Maybe I am just a kid.

Just a hypocrite.

Just some other person who thought they were right.

I don't wish to believe that.

But maybe it's true.

Our minds are different.

Me, her, him, you.

I refuse to accept it... no, it cannot be.

Just an idealistic naive brat who thought they could see.

Who still clings on to the notion of dark and light.

Who still stares at simple things with the feeling of delight.

Who thinks they are jaded, but it's all lies,

Since their cynicism is just a tattered disguise.

Who still laughs when the worst jokes are told,

Who still wants to believe there's more than this dark cavern the world holds.

Who is still afraid of death despite wanting it so much,

Who still blames the others when I give up.

...

Yes. I am a child.

I will never accept the reality.

I will struggle and strive for what I believe is the actuality.

I will not listen to the truth until there is all certainty,

Because by then, I'll be an adult and the world will finally listen to me.

A/N: Trying too hard to rhyme.