Just me,

On the cusp,

Budding into my body,

Growing older with each year,

I’ve been waiting, I’ve been wanting,

You, because you mean more than life,

You mean so much more than everlasting life,

But unseen, I lie waiting, the cusp of adulthood,

Unheard, my words woven and weak against your aggravating age,

There is nothing but barriers between our weird and wonderful worlds,

Walls, plastered and painted with numbers much larger than I can see,

For you are of age, blossomed into womanhood, no longer weeded and wild,

And I am nineteen, I am nothing more than a number in your eyes,

Tell me, does the number make the man or does the man cast it off,

Do we break the chains that reign over our right to love and be loved back,

Because I find this route of attack the only act worthy of shedding this god-awful vantablack,

So you tell me, sell me the game because it’s been the same since you spoke my name,


via Daily Prompt: Cusp


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