I Think I’m Growing Up
It seems like I’ve outgrown the urge
to deviate, be defiant, or even a tad naughty
and these days my considerable inborn rebellious streak
is directed more against inequality, injustice, stupidity,
limited thinking, outdated traditionalism,
or prescriptive constraints,
instead of people.
The skeletons in my closet
have withered to dust
with no remotely recent ones added
festering and rank.
I’m not even tempted
since having found productive outlets
for my effulgent flagrance.
When in that rare moment
I used to have the house to myself
I’d binge-watch movies
while substance abusing potato chips
like I ordinarily wouldn’t do
suddenly unplugged from my routine
by a lack of witnesses.
when I’m alone here for a few days
I hit efficiency mode
in a streak of unleashed brilliance of purpose
cleaning the house, catching up on work,
then a brisk walk in the sunshine
before eating those healthy leftovers in the fridge.
I’m living so deeply congruent
it seems there is nothing
I want “to get away with.”
But I don’t think I’m getting old and boring
because I am bursting with ideas and hopes and goals
surging with escalating, cascading, swirling creativity
more than ever before.
Time is no longer something to be squandered
and escape has become unnecessary.
I really don’t care anymore what anyone else thinks
and I have no need to pull anything over on myself.
I’m honest: my future is made in this instant
and running away or lapsing
is clearly impossible since I’m still there.
I earnestly desire to go, do, see, be
more than I’ll ever fit in or be able to afford
so my aspiration is to get on with what I can do this moment
together with some reflective silence like now:
yearning to be better, purer, more realized, more enlightened,
and grateful for progress.
No getting around it: I think I’m growing up.