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.