The crossroad of 'thank you''s
You seem to do what ever grown up does.
The same worries, the same feelings.
When you were my age,
You promised that,
You will never be like your parents.
Now all you see is them in the mirror,
Rather then yourself.
You used to rebel,
A curse being every other word,
That flew out of your young mouth.
You used to dress like me.
Promising yourself that,
This is what you will wear forever.
Your cloths being all black and leather.
With chains and pins that were heavy,
On your young bones.
Or maybe you wore something so colorful,
Maybe a little too revealing,
Then what your parents want you to wear.
They were your age too.
But even though you know what it's like.
You still stare down on those,
Who are younger then yourself.
Just like those people stared down on you.
You may have been too cool for their cold stares.
But you truly know that it eats away at you.
Those stares soon sculpted you into something,
What we call now as normal.
You never wanted to be that.
You wanted to