Adulthood Sect (a birthday toast)

First of all, I would ask you a question:
why does a birthday matter at all?
A birthday carries quiet sadness
if you truly know.

In my childhood, I was wise,
as if already grown.
Time whispered, “Grow up,”
and I did so.
My soul kept shrinking,
like a shirt that never fit,
until it hung
as nothing but a memory.

Adulthood is a quiet sect,

almost monastic in its rules.
You simply wake one morning
already taken hostage,
expected to know the rules,
to bear a weight
you never chose.

I thought growing meant clarity,
a mind swept clean.
But every order hides its trick,
especially the ritual
of the Adulthood sect.

In my childhood, I should have slept,
small, safe, warm.
But Time leaned close
and commanded:
“Grow up, my little doll.”

To grown-ups, anyway.

12.12.2025