Wanderer

Not dark enough for night,
not pure enough for light,
not old enough for sight,
not young enough for fight.
Cursed with being in-between,
where I have no one to run to,
take my hand gently,
for I fear I might just break.
Too short for wisdom
but too tall for fun,
Too strong for love,
but too weak for hate.
I know the world is cruel,
for it’s done this to me,
black circles lie under my eyes,
and uncontrollable feelings beside.
Inexperienced, but too mature,
deathly sick without a cure,
unknowing, but know I’m sure,
chained to the wall, but not secure.