I remember when growing up was some—
Grand adventure, some extended board game
Every year somebody new to become
Every year some new insight to my name

Every year, one more poem in free verse—
Still frames of silent tears and raucous nights
Snapshots documenting my best and worst
An artist’s impression of maturity and moonlight

These days, adulthood is the metaphor—
Nothing more than an empty platitude
For each quietly shut apartment door
Each dead relationship I still pursue

I spend my days and nights haunted by it—
The truth of how much I may never know
How to write a Shakespearean sonnet
How to love deeply and somehow let go

I feel the weight of the things I carry—
And breathe my way through each February