Growing up seems quite bitter;
Senses interrupted by black coffee, beer, and cigarettes,
All the while, keeping me going, pretend to be growing.
Not bitter like almonds
But bitter like regrets.
As maturity slowly creeps around the corner,
I find myself turning into allies, turning stale.
Turning to anything with rancid taste, I despise,
To escape burdens I dislike.
More and more, the bitter taste numbs my tongue.
Forgetting I used to be someone
With visions and dreams of something sweet,
The coffee, and beer, and cigarettes
Making me throw up,
The more I grow up.
by Rocky Tess, 18, Berlin, Germany