Sentimental sixteen, I long to be older and
lose my indecision, get to be indifferent to
every jibe and mean word. Sitting on the
edge of going mad I need my lifebelt.

Why am I so different from every living
biped, not fitting into any cryptic crossword.
Walking in a downpour fits my disposition,
but no one sees the splendour or the last word.

When will I find love, in any way I need to.
not fitting any predetermined box of tricks.
Longing for my fate to change its path of
righteous condemnation, waiting for a sign.

I want to have style, but not a bloody icon,
born to rise above the mass but not above the
clouds. Maybe life is like that, happens all the
time, though I doubt it is a pathway I will walk.

I look like a geek boy, weird and maybe bright,
never testing mensa, in case it bites back. Full
of youthful smart crap but never meaning hurt,
just my inhibitions crying for a soft touch.

Life in a food mixer, of the world today, does it
really matter if your parts are stirred or shaken,
maybe better, if the world was not so self condemning,
because we just follow, like a sheep into its fold.

And so I search for meaning in any way I can, longing
to be older, but yearning to stay young forever in a
seesaw world of endless growing up. Travelling down
a road of indecision, will I ever find my true self?