The Immature Person

Wimp with mask, don't
I pity me, careless

byproduct of the you.
Great chief frisk,

confabulous and stupid
with weightless

observations--each
a gangplank walk

from forgive to forget.
What made me so afraid?

I was insecure. As in,
so little ground

was mine. And what
much there was

was almost bellyup
too wanted, so dizziness

felt me rough. Discovered
self-criticisms and

hand-cuffs. The law
of pleasurable exchanges

was sheep-like, but
eventually, I should admit

without the embarrassment
that pretends to be

real shoes, my constant
life's pride finally

overcame its longdrawn
cresting. Crashed me

upside down. To tousle
air as the secret,

always what I tricked
were depths. Shows

what I knew was
defeated, in bad need of

age to grow into.
So I did. And it fit.