It was the first day of first grade,
Amidst our nervous capers;
That we were asked to hand on in
All the required papers
Our parents signed to send with us –
Our requisites initial –
To prove we really had been born,
And that we were official.

And so it was year after year
On each new term’s first day:
As eighty-nine signed documents
Were asked for, right away.
Until one year, I don’t recall –
Might be grade eight or nine –
Papers were handed out to us
We were supposed to sign.

I started, cautiously at first,
To read through every word;
But by the sixteenth document
The whole things seemed absurd.
I had to fill in my address
On every single page,
And these poor blighters always asked
My birth date AND my age.

Eventually, I simply signed.
I didn’t read the text;
Scant dreaming of the danger there
And what might happen next.
But looking back, I can recall
The stress that soon was rife:
And I think, without knowing it,
I signed away my life.

First: puberty destroyed me.
It took all my strength and will;
And second: as an ugly kid
All of my looks could kill.
Thirdly, then, testosterone
Filled up my heart with rage;
On top of that, I was a geek,
And *that* was not a stage.

So: lustful, ugly, mad and dumb
I set out on toward my ends;
But found that combination
Didn’t land me many friends.
It seemed unfair. I couldn’t see
Why life was so unkind:
When suddenly, I hard recalled
All of that stuff I signed.

So maybe there was something there
I’d missed from inattention:
That I’d agreed to be a joke
(Or word to bad to mention)
I only have myself to blame –
I’ve rued it to this day –
I just did not have much life left
Once I signed it
Away