Unripe, Yet Already Rotting

.

Every breath I take in

Is heavy as lead;

Instead of oxygen, I'm breathing

Cold, pure dread.

.

I was plucked, unripe,

Yet already rotting,

From the branch of my childhood –

From the branch I was clutching –

.

And I was flung brutishly amongst

The debris below,

Into an adult world

I did not know.

.

My awakening came

With a crash, with a cut –

An initiation ceremony –

Like a punch to the gut.

.

This world of adults

And grown-up things

Is violent and cruel –

No bluebird sings.

.

Here it is possible to break

That which is already broken;

And it's possible to buy anything

For some small token.

.

They march around like giants,

Booming their rules,

But I don't see kings,

I only see fools.

.

I preferred it up there,

Hanging onto my tree,

Clutching my youth

And naivety.

They stripped that from me,

Though it was not theirs to take;

They stole my smile

And swapped it for a fake.

.

Now they ask me to make decisions

And dance to their tune;

But all the while I am drowning

In their lethargy lagoon.

.

I bleat and I cry –

I beg and I pray –

'I am not of this world',

I desperately say.

.

But I am kicked and beaten

For showing any weakness at all,

Yet they are responsible

For my premature fall.

.

They plucked me, unripe,

Yet already rotting,

From the branch of my childhood –

From the branch I was clutching.