Old eyes

Young but old

From behind, they call me "ma'am"

They see long hair, I understand

They see my face and call me "young man"

It's only what I am

They look into my eyes

Then I'm "sir"

They call me this, as I've been told

because my eyes are very old

Behind these eyes they see what's inside

An old man about to die

Many ask my age

Just to get on the same page

But the answer is always a shock

The body of someone not yet twenty 

Piloted by a soul with years too many

Old people become at ease, because they are like me

But the young will always flee

Author's Note

I do not consider myself a writer. In fact before I ran away from home I had never written before besides school assignments. All my poems come from a notebook I kept when I ran away.