I do not want to grow up, old and bitter
Being the old lady who’s sour and a screamer;
Lonely and cold on a windy Friday night,
sitting and knitting under a full moon light;
Oblivious to its beauty, lost in past thoughts
Of a life long gone, never to return.
I do not want to be known as the debby downer;
One who drowns children in tales of old times-
Of witches and wizards and rumples’ disguise,
Misleading true lovers and preaching a life-
Where love is a farce and fairytales don’t last.
I do not want to die old with no one to hold;
No one to laugh at my old woman jokes;
No one to decipher the pain in my scorn;
No one to joke at my degrading neurons.
I do not want to live till the sun goes extinct;
The dark takes up it’s place, I do not want it-
To live with mere shadows of myself, lonely me.
I do not want laughter to come from the street,
Through windows with no one to cheer me within.
I do not want to grow old and wither all alone.