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The Hell With Growing Up (Other) by wilco Time is like a cancer, burning away every thread
of the children that once we were.
We spend our entire lives trying to recapture
the wonderful feeling of a misspent youth.
Driving too fast, using copious amounts of drugs
and having promiscuous sex with strangers.
We attempt to force the idea that these things are wrong,
and all the while trying to claim them for ourselves.
And can this childish hedonism really be so bad?
Perhaps when you consider the times.
The only difference between the foolish acts of men and boys
is the severity of the punishment rendered.
The death of my youth has been slow and painful,
and now that it's gone I can't help but have regrets.
Up the ladder:
becoming
Down the ladder:
Bombs
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.9375
Posted: March 30, 2004 8:04 PM PST; Last modified: March 30, 2004 8:04 PM PSTWeighted score: 6.7065444 Overall Rank: 504 Comments:
I think it represents a good snapshot of a frame of mind in the moment just before one "grows up" (whatever that is) - this exact feeling.
You may be surprised, and perhaps relieved, to know that there is still a bit to go and you won't spend your entire life wishing for misspent youth. As a slight aside, there is a recent study where folks aged 65 and older were asked what their favorite age was - 40-41 was the most cited result.
Hey, you get it.
Personally, I dislike cancer being used as a metaphor, especially for something like time because to me, the two things are entirely different. But this is hardly a constructive criticism.
The final line isn't poetic but the sentiment could go very far and the couplet structure is probably the best form for it. Excellent start but as yet I consider it a bit of a rough gem.
Your poem is very good. thanks for the comments and tips.
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1) You don't believe what? That I've driven too fast? That I've used drugs? That I've had sex with strangers? Who didn't do these things when they were in high school and college?
2) I'm not saying that I've found Jesus and I'm not condemning these things. In fact, I'm saying that I wish that I could still do them.
A flourescent cabbage-toasting beard-damper on cabbage toast.
But you can't, right? Because in some respect or other you've subscribed to a notion that 'adults' don't do those things - that they weren't so great, anyway. That, or you have no way of knowing because you didn't do them in the first place. Or you're just a kid trying to posit what you should feel like if you ever grow up to be an adult. I have no way of knowing.
In any event, it follows that the 'slow and painful' 'death' of your childhood you regret so much is just the incomplete reconciliation of a so-called standard, so-called adult morality to the suspicion that those things aren't in fact so bad - or, if they are, that you just don't give a fuck about screwing up your life. You should give it some thought. Or just smoke a joint and watch the history channel for 4 hours straight with your kids.