As I grow and learn and mature

in a world

where all number of things

(but especially people)

are sorted and labeled,

shoved into boxes like leftovers

into too-small containers,

I feel suffocated

 

I look to adults, amazed that they

haven't been crushed

under the weight of society

and it makes me wonder

what makes them stand tall

 

Was the world different in their youth?

Did they grow tired,

and surrender their beliefs

to the overwhelming masses?

 

Perhaps they were stronger,

stronger in ways I am not

 

Maybe they didn't recongize

the unnamed feeling of defiance;

the want for revolution

and maybe it passed

through their blossoming minds

as careless as a Spring breeze

 

Then again, mayhaps it isn't their own doing;

perhaps adulthood brings with it

the consequence

of forgetting how to fight

and believe so fiercely in something

that it consumes you

and brands

your very skin

with purpose

 

As long as I live,

wherever I may go,

and whomever I may love,

I hope/pray/wish

that I never lose

the fire that warms and fuels me

and lights the sky itself

with colors unimaginable,

painting my horizon

a canvas of passion and hope