Pre-Mature Poem by Sonya Annita Song

I'm young, defined
To some degree
By age and all
An eye can see,
But though my hair
Is not yet white
And steps are bouncy,
Soft and light,
I know the pain
Of burdened years,
The horror of
So many fears,
How daily tasks
Can change into
Grim obstacles
One must get through.

No matter where
I was around,
Some trouble always
Could be found.
My hands were hooks,
Like claws composed;
I would be stuck
If doors were closed,
No better than
A kitten's paws
That could not even
Give applause.
Afraid to sit,
I could not rise,
Infirm and all
That it implies;
If something dropped
Onto the ground,
It felt as if
I had been drowned,
No way to pick
Things up for me,
Such was my life
Before, you see.

Pity followed
Everywhere,
In people's eyes,
How they would stare
Because I walked
And looked so young,
Seemed ordinary
Though I clung
To every rail
And every hope
I'd find a better
Way to cope
With illness that
Coursed through my frame,
I put the myth
Of age to shame.