Raíces: Rooted in Faith, Familia, and Friendship

My hurt is too fast.

Fast like the friends your parents didn’t want you around as an adolescent.
That kinda fast exposes you to more than you can understand
With your limited experience, but
You think you’re grown anyway.

I wear an ignorant baby face
Despite the emotional maturity I claim.
No one is buying it.
I get ID’ed at every turn.
No one believes it’s authentic.

So, what really gets accomplished?
Something happens and I hurt and I react.
Brief little show that might be interesting to some,
Maybe mundane to most.
Winner takes all and loser gets all bent out of shape.

I don’t want to be grown.

I want to be like a child, in this scenario.
Me, laughing freely while you, the adult, smack yourself on the forehead
When you realize your errors.
As you remember something forgotten that turned out to be important.

And when I ask you, “What’s the matter?”
You say, “Nothing, baby. Eat your cookies and get ready for bed.
I have work to do.”

I slowly mosey on to my pillow and blankie.
My shape intact and my mind content.