Here I dwell playing with my crayons:
Scribbling wall, colouring my fantasies.
I let here out my neat paper boat:
Thinking it`ll bring back the kite that flew out.
May be I should grow up.
I litter my room of thoughts; with thoughts.
I dwell in envy for not having a doll of simplicity.
I still hurt my hand with that garden trowel:
See this wound; this was when I last sowed a thought.
Yes, I need to grow up.
I’m short, need to heighten my perception.
I’m frail, need to strengthen my patience.
I leap around, forgetting home I must go,
Cross roads boggle me, don`t know where to go.
God, please help me grow up.
Yet, I like sending boats, scribbling walls,
Playing soil, getting hurt and losing my kites.
May be I need a real tooth of wisdom,
Only then will i be able to solve the perplex:
Do I need to grow up?
P. S.: random, perplexed thoughts on turning 21. They say, once you stumble the age of 21, you`re grown up. But i don`t understand what being grown up is. This bothers more than my peeking wisdom tooth. May be you could help me:]