I am not ready.

I am not ready
to accept that summer ends in September
that I have to hide my bathing suits in rubber bags and hide them under beds.
I am not ready 
to give up to some season's grey melancholy
just because I'm supposed to feel sad and worthless.
I am not ready 
to embrace normality as a benchmark standard
in order to fulfill someone else's expectations.
I am not ready
to keep repeating explanations to people
who don't even try to understand all I believe in.
I am not ready
to accept that I will never put pen to paper as a true writer
- true not to everyone but to myself.
I am not ready 
to fall into a vigil coma 
and forget to experience life so deeply.
I am not ready
to lose myself in a monotonous rut
just because I slipped and tripped for a year or two.
I am not ready 
to choose another path
than the one that has already been assigned to me.
I am ready
to be everything I need to be ready for.

V.