Growing Up
I stand in a glass vacuum all day and I wait
No air, true companionship, or outward personality
I wait because a metal sphere hangs over my cage
Suspended by eighteen strands of the finest gold silk
Each grazed by the knife that cuts through the shackles of the enslaved
All twined into a shiny gold rope
A noose to my free will
As long, unfulfilled moments pass
In masses of missed opportunities
Further the sphere slips
The threads snap in pieces of years
One-out of the womb
Two-walking on my own
Three-talking
Four-basic counting
Five-reading
Six-writing
As each breaks I gain a breath of the air that is self reliance
Fifteen-getting a job
Sixteen-driving a car
Every year that breaks without new skill I get a little closer to suffocating
The last thread stays strong, just before it snaps I regret not cherishing this time
The sphere hangs precariously over me and I realize
Seventeen-college admission, graduation
When the last thread breaks, the sphere falls in slow motion
It shatters the case
It slams into my head
I fall into the ocean of adulthood
Eighteen- I drown
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