Adulthood
My mind continuously contemplates of how deserving I is of freedom.
Consistantly conflicted of world works
whilst still in hopes
to live in my prime of pride and joyous work.
Of how one should be at lengths of articles, journals, a book or two,
awakened daily by the sounds of birds chirping their said songs for the day,
as I awake from slumber to dive into my pages again.
Life shouldn't be so cruel,
we shouldn't have to wait so long
None of this makes sense.
What are we to do?
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