Is growing up
Anything more than losing what you know?
About yourself
About your friends
Your feelings?
You know nothing
You are an infant once again
No real knowledge of the world
And so many scattered thoughts
So that even when looking through them all
An impossible feat
You do not know which are real
Which are true
You hate yourself
For every single thing you’ve ever said
And for the one odd thing
That you said
That you did
That you don’t regret
That makes you smile
That you think of with a splash of pride
In a year you will regret that as well
As is growing up