the strangeness of seventeen sets in as the seasons start to shift
i am stuck in the surreal stage of dwindling childhood and attempted adulthood
contradicting feelings being meshed into one disconcertingly dysfunctional body
i feel i am incapable of fully indulging in either my youth or my approaching adulthood
i feel i am incapable of being anything at all

the naïveté of nine has faded with the wood of my windowsill and i am no longer so sure of myself
pressures of eighteen loom in my future along with deafening doubts of
both my emotional and literal abilities to provide for myself
every morning i wake up in twisted bedsheets and wonder
whether teenage me is who i always hoped she’d be, or if something went wrong along
the winding road of change and growth and weak attempts to be better

so much i wish to do, so many ghosts of the past i wish to crush
haunted by the gloom i let in at such a young age, it never truly leaves me
i wish i could stop the clock from it’s monotonous tick-tick-ticking
and i wish i could stop the sun from disappearing beyond the foggy horizon
(i have so much to learn before night falls)

As I sit here on the bitter edge of seventeen
I daydream about the time the grass were green
I hate the way your love makes me act like a fein
Do you even think of me.