I'm 28 and I feel like a well lived cat.
maybe I'm on life... 8?
I don't really regard myself as old, seasoned, or wise.
Yet, when I start to ponder my thoughts,
and study my history,
I reflect on what feels like,
the many lives I've lived,
and all of their unanswered mystery.
I think of my friends,
how those circles have rolled.
I think of my family,
how their wrinkles have grown.
My breath holds -- as I examine my ignorance,
I fist shake the mirror,
as I reprimand my inner informant.
How did I get here?
As my mind plays "the cripple".
I've learned too much,
and understood so little.
It's getting harder to make friends.
& forgive myself for the ones I've forgotten.
& to forgive the ones who have forgotten me.
And to find closure from it all.
It's becoming more evident
the depth of my resentment
and more prevalent
the rate at which I feel misunderstood.
The rate at which
much is misinterpreted
and misunderstood
and under appreciated
and unrecognized,
from my being.
How come the older we get,
the less friends we have?
Is that really true?
Why am I becoming my own victim?
And my best defenses useless?
How do I get used to this?
It's all my fault, you see.
Nothing has changed.
These 8 lives are nothing but unified.
And things have always been the same.
My standards and observation
are all that are growing.
I guess this is what it feels like,
as I learn of a mind that is "knowing".
Growing pains.
What a pain!
I've become less ticklish
in this state of evaporating ignorance.
My laughs are replaced
with grief.
My athleticism becomes a "thing"
recognizable by the weakness in my knees.
It's good to understand, this life.
but easier to be pissed.
I guess my mind has some adapting to do.
If I'm going to make the best of this.
