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How mature
You want me to be?

I don't know,
If you heard
The hidden message
Between those lines

But who I'm kidding,
When you judged the book
Without lifting the cover

It's quite amusing
When someone tries
To point out,
Someone else dirt
Without noticing the mud
On their own faces

How can mere figures
Define a person?
How can a dress
Define someone's intellect?

If these are the edges,
To define a person,
Then I guess,
I am not included,
To be called a person

If society's interpretation
Of being mature
Is to stab someone else back
While whispering sweet spring
In front of their faces

Then so be it,
Let me be an immature
For the rest of my life