Grass over Walls (Poem on growing up)

Cyclopean walls enclose life.

Only socks and underwear are the attire.

I hate my stomach.

When did I lose my abs?

I am only 17.

Time goes by.

Soon my room will be 5 hours away.

It will not miss me;

I will barely miss it.

But I will miss my abs.

Youth is like grass that has grown far too tall,
it must be snipped,
groomed,
tastefully and not pruned (the pruning can wait).
The grass goes through its seasons
changing constantly,
With or without the consent of nature.
Nature forces it to grow,
it is inevitable.
But sometimes it has to grow on its own,
without nature.

A choice the grass makes? Or do the cells?
Those little tiny things that somehow make us, us.

'What is the time of societal growth into adulthood?' asks the sociologist.
Time really only does exist in the mind of the society, right?

The tattoo of the clock onto society,
How foolish of us.
Why does the darkness of the earth tell us it is time to sleep?
Maybe it is time to dance,
or cry, shout, wash the dishes, if one needs.
Why does the light need to tell us to work tirelessly?
Maybe it is time to write,
or ski, sleep, bathe, if one needs.

Let our watches not reflect the sky.
Let our watches reflect our bodies' desires.

Desires?
I am only 17.
s   t   i   l   l
   o   n   l   y
      1   7

I have lived more than the average 17 year old.
I suppose that is my perspective;
Much like society's perspective of time.


No longer will these cyclopean walls entrap me.
Soon I will be gone.
My grass will grow beyond what the seasons allow,
Without being mowed.
It will grow over the cyclopean walls,
The roots of the grass are to be:
p   u   l   l   e  d, snipped and ripped
out of the previous earth,
to enter the new parts.

The growth will happen in time.
Time is soon.
True age does not matter, only earth's age.
Society's age.
Time is soon.
Waiting.
Waiting to be 18.

An adult.
A qualified adult. Legal.
I was an adult years ago.
But nobody knew.
Society has to snip the ends of the grass,
and refuses to recognize if I already have.

____________s_i_d_e___n_o_t_e________________

I am just playing around with poetry.
Do not fuss.
I am not a poet.
Just a person with thoughts.
A person with thoughts who likes to write them
out
on
different
lines.
Because somehow,
that makes them more
i m p o r t a n t.