Maturity

By
crammed between the
tiny lines of print
is my maturity.
It seeps down the edge of the page and
into my fingertips.
I try to fight it,
can't.
Can't even begin to battle the
wrinkles that settle into my brow, the
weight on my shoulders,
the questions in my head,
the cynicism lodging itself in my breast.
all i can do is stare at your picture,
numb, and suddenly
very grown up.





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