The loss of innocence

Is no tragedy,

But more a rite of passage.

Entering the world

Of sin and decadence,

Another test;

Obstacle we’re passing.

Times have metamorphosised.

It’s not how it used to be.

I’m a prodigy of modern age

Who just wants to live and be.

I’m no angel, I’ll admit,

I never claimed I was.

But neither am I demon-possessed;

There are many nice things I love.

Being different is no crime,

Yet should I rot in my prison forever?

Everyone feels the same as I do

With calm waters and stormy weather.

I’ve learned to roam the earth in a mask,

To be tough as nails, besides,

Fugitives of life believe it a weakness

To show your softer side.

So on I go,

Dizzy, confused,

Making footprints in the contradictions around me.

For now they say maturity is

Caring how others see you

And not your own identity.