Living Room

Becoming an adult is a funny thing. 

It sort of sneaks up on you

From the depths of existence

Even though you’re aware of your childhood expiration date

It ebbs and flows in the way people talk to you

In the way they hear you

In the way they act around you

Suddenly you’re no longer dismissed but instead berated with words

“I love you but you’re wrong” they insist

“I love you but you can’t” they insist

They insist

It’s hard to continue to follow and listen

When we all know matter tends toward disorder

Including people

Especially people

Society is far more aware of this than we think

I turned eighteen

On my birthday I got so much of

“Now you get to go to federal prison” that

I forgot I could vote

I forgot I could buy a house

I forgot I could get married

I forgot I could build my own life

Because everyone only shone light on the consequences of finally being an adult

Yet my life is no different than before

Only noticeable difference is that I can sign my own waivers

I still have not voted

I still live with my parents

I still want to meet my soulmate

I still yearn for more 

One day

When the ocean is finally blue and the grass is green

I will have my more

But for now this adult stays in her parents’ living room

This poem is about: 
Me

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