Own the night like the fourth of July.

You're meant to finish all your math and language before you watch Frenemies but I still find it charming when you talk about Cleopatra and her sister, "Olympica".

You're meant to sweep the area around the kitty box when you clean it half heartedly but I'm still impressed with your determination to skip a grade.

You're meant to be gainfully employed but I love when you still wanna hang out with your siblings.

You're easy for me to cherish because, even when I don't wanna, you don the crown. I transform into Stage Mom at the mercy of your irresistible charms. The difficulty lies in tough launching you into manhood or finding the balance between letting you Be and watching you become.

You're meant to leave the laundry room as you found it with clean shirts to boot but we're still walking across department stores with combat boots and Ts depicting bespectacled cats to smile and say, "hey, does this look like him or what?"

You're meant to shut it down of an evening so people can sleep but we turn on the fan so you can keep strumming until you find your groove because we like it to keep it groovy.

You're meant to go to bed at a reasonable hour but we let you crawl into ours because you won't always and there's an empty space that babies used to fill.

You're easily the brightest star in my galaxy, dimmed only by lack of self determination because I'm already lost in your outer spaces.

I'm a believer. You better believe it.

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