When you claim to not be a child, it's like
Saying you can breath underwater or see through walls:
Only a child thinks that.
But to say an adult cannot be a child
That would be to choke on that water you claimed to breathe
I felt like an adult when my mother's words didn't match me anymore--
When I thought better things than her and "applied" for things:
Schools, jobs, money, apartments, programs.
I felt like an adult, putting my own food on my own table--
A table given to me by my mother, with food I cooked like she did.
I felt like an adult when I forgot about home and who was still there.
I would come back and lose that feeling, thinking I was in high school
Mom would still be telling me what to do and my siblings had the same names
I don't know what I expected to be different--maybe myself.
I felt like a kid--like a child who didn't know how the world works--
In my senior year in college, after my neighbor's cat, Stache, died.
He had lung cancer I didn't know about--I just found him on the door step
Weezing harder, lethargic, and grey.
He lasted three more days until he was put down and gone.
I felt like a kid, expecting to see Stache waiting at the apartment door,
Expecting food, love, and caring from one of his care providers.
Instead, the mat was empty and he wouldn't come back.
I felt like a kid, too stupid to understand a simple truth
And all I could think was "what should I have done?"
For one, I could have not lied and said I was still a kid.