Coming of Age

Coming back from a universe away,
another day or a year slips by.
How alone can a child be made to feel?
At least that feeling is real,
and life can be less bloody when ignored.
The torment never stops long enough,
not to think nor take a drink
from the well of your resolve.
The confusion has gone,
but what new patch must I blaze before me
under the name which I’ve been given?

Coming of age.
All too fast,
and all too late.
Coming of age.
Fear the past,
learn to hate,
cut yourself in a rage!
Never quite sure
for why or what reason,
without place or season,
that I am never myself.
But, no matter!
It’s coming of age!

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