I am not a rebel without a cause,
I am quite simply
Without a cause.

I am so naïve now
At the age of nineteen and three quarters.

I know nothing
Of the things
That made me feel so clever,
At times better than the rest.

I think I may not be better
At anything,
Nor worse,
Instead I fear that I am
Merely clueless,
I have been given no aim
And am unable,
(Unwilling?)
To find one of my own.

What is this?
Adolescence?

What is this adolescence?

Giving it this label,
Makes it normal,
Makes it ok,
To be…

I daren’t admit.