The art of adulting

Is honestly a lie.

It's actually pretending

Before each other until "Goodbye".


They ask us the question

"How are you doing?"

"Fine," we reply in succession.

It's a routine we keep improving,

A rhetorical inquiry,

Nothing but a pleasantry.


Adults know everything.

At least, children think we do.

They believe, worshiping,

That we know why the sky is blue.

Sometimes even if we have all the pieces

Our confusion only increases.


In public: make money, pay taxes

Business suits and a briefcase.

At home: save a princess with swords and axes

Or float with aliens in outerspace.

Although outside we play a part,

Inside we are all children at heart.