We don't mature, we just complicate.

We're the same 5 year old,
Our emotions stem backward,
They're inside us, under the layers,
of old, bitter flesh, like onion peels,

We get sad at the same things,
we just don't let out guttural cries,
mad at the same things,
we just rationalize why not to,

We don't mature, we just pile on the dirt,
and when it's too late, we realize,
that child smothered under rubble,