Of teenagers unasked for

The teenager that flashes across me is nothing but a facade, an impermanence - a snowflake that melts as soon as it hits dry ground. That part of me will die a slow seething, timely death, if it is not nurtured; not allowed to grow and blossom and take its rightful place- on a shelf of my past pictures and memories. One needs to peer deeper into me to see the adult, the strength of my self that radiates from within, an adult that raised his head a long time before the teenager had even tried disappearing back into the darkness of the womb, where it started.