Oh my goodness,
Oh me, oh my,
I’m only seventeen,
Too young to die.
I hit the bed early,
Mommy tucks me in,
I pray for God’s forgiveness
To cover all my sin.
Tomorrow’s my birthday
I’ll get to stay up late
As a real, bonafide adult,
Minus booze…can’t wait.
Then I will know sex
And be allowed to curse,
But until midnight’s stroke,
My childish lips will purse.
Oh my good gosh,
Oh dear heaven above,
Until the dark hour hits,
Keep me from 18+ love.
Then, my dear Lord,
I can stay ever pure;
Tomorrow I’m an adult
And will see every lure.
Ooh. Fuck yes! It’s here.
Twelve has arrived a cure.
My childish days behind me,
I’m adulting now for sure.
I need not stay in bed—
Head’s grown, ideas unfurled—
Send me right off to war,
I’m welcomed to The World™.
POET’S NOTE:
Part of the Truth, Applied collection.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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