Youth’s Confession

I have a confession to make to you,

I’m not a grown up yet, I still rely 

On other people, parents and friends who

Bolster me up when I’m blue, and don’t lie

About things because it isn’t loving,

I confess that I still cry about dumb

Things more trivial than playground shoving

And laugh in those instances when someone

Tells a poorly constructed knock-knock joke,

I wonder if this immaturity

Is perpetual, like and iron yoke,

Or if those more mature than I keep

The truth under the radar and make their own

Confession that they too don’t yet feel grown.