is it too much to say -
Peter Pan syndrome runs in the veins,
in the blood, close to the bones
which would rather not lengthen -
keep me close to the ground, it's
not as far to fall, keep me
innocent, as much as possible
what's to look forward to?
correcting grammar and paper-pushing
blurs the vision, and I would
rather chase rainbows
and try to count the stars -
while eyes are still sharp enough
to cut.

I don't want to grow up.