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The Age MAG
Sometimes I feel like screaming something wild and crazy atpeople,
obscenities like no one's ever heard me say.
Is it just myyouth,
these ever-changing fields within me, that release anger soeasily?
Before I held it in.
I didn't seem to have real feelings - I keptmyself
too much in check: "That thought is wrong; don't feel that."
and Iwas roommate to some constant fear,
a guilt maybe,
of not doing what was"right," so afraid of who to be,
of how to be, and what impression I wantedleft
footprinted on people's minds.
I thought yesterday of want,
andhow I'm not so sure I've ever really wanted
something - wanted it so bad Ibroke because of it,
so bad I could feel the weight of it in the
hollow ofmy stomach.
I've never sweated for anything that way, never given for
anyone thing that way.
Is this youth, this young-adultness?
When will I feelthe grit of it?
When will I break; when will I fall so hard
in love thatevery gut I have,
every cord of me is ripped apart,
rippedall apart and I have no senses left?
When will I be real?
Seems allconfusing somehow.
I keep looking into people and wondering if
they couldever walk on my ground,
if they could ever understand me.
Adults are mostlyuseless. They never really listen.
They ask questions and when I try toanswer,
they ask another or nod or smile and mostly
forget what I'vesaid.
Then they go off into their own worlds
saying, "It's theage."
The Age. The Age! I hope Age doesn't bring
me damn monotony orsome separate
universe where I can't hear people's eyes,
or their silences,or their body moving and
what it says.
I don't know whether tohate it or embrace it.
Seems all confusing somehow.
I want to be real.
Iwant to break; I want to fall;
I want to be all ripped apart inside
and lienumb with touch and feeling
and everything that screams HUMAN inloud,
I want to be real.
Sometimes Ifeel like screaming obscenities at people.