You may have outgrown this

Its those slump-shoulder-bad-posture kind of moments

That remind us we’re growing

Whether or not our spine thickens

Whether or not our skin is iridescent

Lets just sit

We never sit

Always just a jumble of legs and arms

Forced, intertwined, breathing pores

And he won’t hold your hand

But his was too cold to start

So its those better off alone independent kind of moments

That remind us we’re growing

You’ll all meet me in Rome

In the coliseum

Whether or not I’m a fighter

Whether or not they applaud

Don’t keep me waiting

We’re always waiting

Wouldn’t you say my dear

When are we going to get the hell out of here?