Growing up

These small revelations come to me gradually--
like water droplets falling on my head.
One lands on
my
nose.

Now

I recognize it
by another name.

It's called growing up.

Rushing out the door

[Yeah. I ran off to dance right after writing this.]

I wonder if
lack of
time negates the meaning of a poem;
if we measured worth
by time we pay for it
this world would be flipped entirely.