If I survive to be old,
I hope that by then society will have learnt that experience does not equal wisdom,
and that survival may only indicate the dodging of many bullets.
If they treat me with reverence,
let it be for my achievements and not from any misguided sentimentality,
they should chide me for my follies
and ignore my foolish advice, but without cruelty or intention to cause pain.
Leave me alone when needed and expect me to function as best I can,
it is a wickedness to control through care,
or to diminish through sympathy.
For now I shall run towards the bullets
and try not to wince if they scrape my skin,
I might need it when I am baggy.