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Testimony as Youth
back when j’etais jeune I had minuscule mistakes
back when my cranium confessions were chaste
back when summer was innocent and idyllic
before the raging tides of brute youth rolled in
I lived between my naiveté and my experimentalism;
assiduously running toward the shore of fully metamorphosed maturity
I was “we used to wait”, a wallflower pinned to the wall
I was a firefly, slowly brightening in the dark night
I know two things now; maturity is abstract, thus truly impossible to track
and that even though I’m old enough to know better,
I’m too young to care.
Who says it’s not better to burn out than fade away?
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