You’re probably wondering why I’m in such a hurry
It’s Sunday afternoon, what’s the rush?
You see I am turning 18 this year
And that is why I must catch this bus.
I should have been happier,
Or at least more joyfully expectant
I’d soon be able to vote, drink, drive!
Then why this ghastly apprehension?
But then, you do not know this world.
It’s plans are grander than any of mine.
Every minute is scripted. Every second gone
Is an irresponsible, careless waste of time.
And when I’m already 18, I ought to know
Life’s now a struggle, a fight, a mission.
Work and earn, more and more.
Choose, decide. Excellence. Precision.
So you see, although I’d like to fly
Free as a mocking bird, without a care!
My likes and dislikes do not apply.
And thus I haven’t a moment to spare.
This bus will take me back to my desk
Where I have contraptions to keep myself in check.
– a sedative schedule to drug my wings
– curtains of words to curb my sight
– Locks, expectations, puppet strings
To prevent myself from taking flight.
Where I can use world’s plan to busy myself.
(And bury my own in my loaded bookshelf.)
So please don’t mind, I’ve got to run.
As if this bus is the only one.
I fear if I wait for the next too long
I’ll figure out why the world is wrong.