I Want to Be Young Again

And I know I’m only 22 But I want to be young again I want to have things to look forward to I want to have friends I want parties and secrets and hopeful romances On days that seem like they never end Today the days run like water And the nights, heavy with dread I wake up alone, in a shell of flesh and bone And wonder how, someday, I’ll be dead I want to be young again I want promises of grand things yet to come I want mystery to be joyous and fun like it was And to live life in my skin, not my husk I want to live free and be happy Surrounded by people I love and quiet joy Not sleep alone in a home not my own Just waiting to move or feel lonely, or poor I miss when my money was mine, and buying things didn’t mean I couldn’t eat Where responsibility was a privilege not a burden And when I smiled it wasn’t fake, more for me than for strangers I think a lot of that youth is as fake as memory Less real than it is nostalgic dream I don’t want to move back, I want to go forward But all the stories and experiences of childhood feel lost, not absorbed I’m a shell and my future is broken, and inside that shell is hope and fear The hope keeps me going and the fear keeps me sane but I pray for the day I don’t need them I want to be young again And I’m only 22 What does it say when the world looks at you And decides that you’re older than you? That you can’t see a future that is any better than a dream of the past That the things once taken for granted become weights on your feet These are the things that make me say I want to be young again. Nowhere here have I said the word wish. Wishes are reserved for things that can be true. I wish for my paycheck to come on time. I wish for my bank to not scalp me if I’m an hour late. I wish that I might have enough money left to buy myself a little joy this week But I cannot wish to be young again. I can’t wish for that joy, that mystery, that promise of better things to come, to come back Because wishes are for things that can yet be true And I’m too old now for wishing for any of that I’m starting to ramble now Tongue wagging, talking to avoid thinking Talking, talking to avoid feeling Avoid feeling the creak of age in my bones Avoid feeling the shriek of pain in my throat Avoid feeling the heat of rage in my hands I want to be young again Not to be small and weak and foolish But to be fast and confused and worried and able to wonder, all of these without fear I am always afraid. That’s how I know I’m old. When I think of old age it’s confusion, with fear. It’s loneliness. It’s the promise of no more promising things to come

| Thiago Linck

It’s the creak of hating your flesh and the fear of losing your mind That’s how I know, at 22, that I’m old And who is old that can’t say I want to be young again Like in my dreams of never was When being young meant being happy and being safe I want to be young again This year I turn 23 I can’t imagine how that’ll be