We are taught that we should follow grownups:
wonderful grownups, big admirable adults.

Yet we weren’t taught how to recognize them;
Perhaps that’s why growing up can be so sad.

When a soft hand reaches for what looks like a strong ledge,
there is no time to think if the ledge turns out to be slick.

So the soft hand tumbles down bewildered, splattering upon
asphalt whispering sad sad.
And even then, we continue to fall through the ground.

Should we say we are sorry for holding expectations?
That we made a mistake?
Please ignore the grass sprouting in our heads
Not that one would see.
Please give us a moment to shed a virgin tear
Not that one would wait.

We are just a bit lost after all. Wandering children.

Please, don’t make that kind of face,
We can understand you better than you think.
This will be over in less than a second.
We will get back up
And

See? Our eyes are already drying.
But our hand hurts.