Layers [√]

[ blow me a wish ]

this coming 17th i'll be turning 22

it's obtuse how my life on earth
gets to be measured by the physicality
of calendar days and it's odd how we
conventionally accept the number
on top of our birthday cakes

i thought time was limitless
how come i'm not?

how come i get to be
defined by the earth's revolution
coupled with the societal bracket
generations that deem "22" as
basically still a young adult
someone who doesn't know better

how come i get to be marked
by the wrinkles on my skin
by the rotting of my teeth
by the decaying of my bones
by the accumulated experience that
is known to be a requirement of maturity

how come i get to be
considered as young based upon
the double digits at the
end of my annual existence

happy birthday!
you're still so young lovely girl
there's still much you have to learn

how naive of them to think
of me as lovely when every night
i prowl with monsters who look like me

twenty-two seems like a great time to become a god of my choosing