gray area

when you were playing tee-ball

i was getting born.

when you became a man

i was hardly a woman.

but let's be honest,

we aren't really adults, are we?

adults don't blast rock shit,

laugh at shitty jokes,

and bring the party favors like we do.

they don't care about age like we do.

we're only three years apart,

and you're still a highschooler...

for the next month.

but it's just social construct, right?

a shitty joke from the big man, right?

another way to control us, right?

shit, i need to stop lying to myself.

you've only been talking to me anyway,

and i know it's delusion writing this happy story

and shoving it down my throat anyways.

but he's the first man that hasn't called me bitch,

that hasn't looked at me with a hateful eye.

so what am i supposed to do,

write it up on the board of failures and make it gone?

but yeah,

i know it's clear as day.

black and white.

but just give me a chance to mix it,

and i can make it a gray area...right?