Mature Sans Maturity

I became mature,

though I lack maturity.

My inner self has grown up for sure

My outer self lacks surety.


At five, my senses went numb

for ages, I was lying frozen, and his breath did stink.

While grown up people suggest that

I don’t know what men think.


At thirteen, I tried to befriend

someone above my year

because the coetaneous ones

didn’t treat me as their age’s near.


At first, he seem to be, for sure,

just one among all

But, stealthily, he came closer

without notice, I was in a danger

I conversed my body safe out of his lock

and since that day, I get scared

by a touch or sound too near


The children I played with

left me one by one

I guess, I couldn’t figure out

how the friendship business is done


I saw them construct projects

with each hand lended

While I bought the sheets alone,

and, by myself, the models I mended.


I stood by everyone’s side

whenever they were in need.

But just when tables were turned,

their numbers were out of reach.


Those very teachers who didn’t

pay heed to my genuine complaints

told my parents in the meet

that their child has no friends.


I am not mature, I know,

because as they will, I can’t lie

I don’t pretend according to their needs

From speaking the truth I never deny.


They say live your life

on your own terms 

but even on your forgiveness

they’ve laid a load of norms.


They pierce your soul

with their pretention,

then, if you don’t grant them forgiveness

they say you lack maturation


If mature solely means

from cradle to grave pretend

I would happily wish to 

be immature till the end.





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