Twenty-Three

Twenty-three is too old for prom, too young for golf,
I've graduated from college, but I'm no adult,
The kids say "that's mad old"
But the elders still see me as very young
And I am restless, I am fickle, I am unsteady, and
difficult to count on. I'm very smart
But hardly wise, my hands and mouth
move like a toddler, learning to walk,
announcing their every thought.

Stephanie says I'm far too young to get married.
The elders think I'm getting old.
Southern parents pressure girls, who
instead want to move to New York.

I think I'd rather hang out with seventh graders, but
I'm no Peter Pan, I want to grow and grow and grow,
And never grow up, always growing softer, old
more childlike than before.