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To: Time, From: Youth

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Don’t do it, time.
Set down the metaphorical chalk and step away from the blackboard.
I won’t stand for distorted images of the crippled years
you’ve birthed to me, so beautifully terrifying,
so monstrous that they can only be admired in perfect condition.

Don’t do it, time.
Stop staring into the depth of my brown eyes each morning,
taunting me with the tick-tock of the second hand,
threatening me with a fight I simply cannot rise against.
My knuckled grip white onto the day,
and yet, you steal it away from me.

Don’t do it, time.
Don’t remove the blindfold which you’ve bestowed upon me,
for it allows me to recognize beauty in the blinding moments.
I know at the end of this tunnel, when I am finally able to see clearly,
I will be grateful for the story of discovery.

Don’t do it, time.
Don’t let me pass you by.

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