left open to interpretation

"how old are you?"
one question that leaves me hanging on a ledge
I lied once
18

It wasn't that I thought 18 made me any older than 17

and I still don't know why I lied about it.

I want age to become as meaningless to me as gender,
but like gender,

everyone wants you to define yours.

Seventeen, and I'm blushing.
Eighteen, and I'm lying.
Nineteen, and nothing will have mattered anymore.



Pubs, liquor stores, probably even bars,I'm in.
I forget about age until the person I've been talking to asks.

"heh...seventeen"
and they admit they were fooled
and I admit it happens too often

The conversation carries on, in the same manner as before.
but I can hear myself talking with soft R's
my opinions sound naive
I'm getting words of advice
my piercings become embarrasing
I'm clenching my wallet as though it's babar's trunk
all my emotions feel like they're coming through invalid
they're coming through as angst
and if I had been drinking, the glass would have turned into a bottle.


I can sense the grey in my eyes reverting back to blue
and I've fooled myself again
into thinking that this age,my age, will ever been taken seriously
the conversation dulls

when my feet make their way back outside
I see beauty in snow that I've never seen before
like crystal clear sequins falling down, adhering to my clothes.
like babies breath when it hits my hair
I reach out for it
jumping and laughing at the sight of something new
snow that doesn't melt, snow that twinkles as it turns to ice
I hold it in my hand, smiling, as it falls
Grabbing the otherwise untouchable shapes which shake and revolve ,
turning and gleaming,
above my head,
past the walls of my crib
like a baby whose eyes have just opened,
mine are re-invented.

I am as young as the snow is gripping