Agnosiophobia

When I grow old enough

That it's time to empty my box of personalization

Of chalks and paints and poems

When my moms discipline becomes mere suggestions

Will I know what to do

Or what I want to do

Will I have used my last free summer to the most of my abilities

Or will I have spent another few months

Lazing around like I had the right to years and years ago

Years ago when procrastination came in story book reports

And short essays

When it’s time for me to have my own home

And pay my own rent

Will I be able to live

Live without fear knowing my parents aren't

Down the hall closest to the front door to keep me

Safe

Will I remember to lock my doors before I leave

Will I be able to keep myself safe and will I be happy

When I think of all my years in school

Back when I believed I would be in this building

Everyday forever, will I be happy that now I am not

Will the wind hitting my body feel refreshing

Or will it be heavier than I could imagine

Blowing me back to my old box of chalks and paints and poems

Where I’d have to say “I wasn’t ready”

I’d say “I wasn’t ready”

And you’d hold me in your nurturing palms

And say

“That’s okay.”