Suddenly, I understand it all.
Yet the world is a mystery and I am lost in it.

Ages are a time and emotion.
13 is mid afternoon. Lagging and energetic.
15 is the morning sun. Rising groggy and regretful.

17? 17 is the night.
17 is the span between 11-1.
When you aren't wild yet but things are certainly different.
17 is the city lights and no seatbelt.
17 is the teenage cliché,
shadowed by the unknown of what is to come.

17 is crying in the hallways and stargazing on the lawn.
17 is having a bottle of ***** under the bed,
but being too scared to drink it.
17 is Ribs and loneliness,
As you watch the night slip away and the knowledge hits you that you now have to wait for morning.

17 is the unknown.
17 is taking risks.
Not because you are brave,
but because you don't have anything left to give.
17 is to be lost,
but to be okay with that.

17 is slowly coming down from the high of growing up,
Reflecting on all you have lived,
As you patiently wait for your life to begin.

The word
It means so many things.
And all mean something so strong.

It’s passive immaturity thrown in faces.
It’s stupid giggles and shaky whispers.
It’s high cheekbones and pretty hair.
It’s large numbers. With shifting and friction and bonding and breaks.
It’s caring and liking.
It’s something that I’ll never have.

But not because it’s not me,
Because I continue to deprive myself.
Because what was once self defense,
Has now become a brand.
And it’s too expensive to let go.

Reeling,
Legs burning,
Chapped face,
Overwhelmed,
Following the ebb and flow,
Swaying in the familiar dance.
Joy.

American romance,
Empty pools,
Teenage dreams,
The unknown.

Resting on top of the world,
Watching activity below,
Yet singularity in existence.

Shattering what’s to come,
Turning over past,
Shocked in present.
Happiness.

Familiar tracings,
Rough seats,
Cool breeze,
Triumphant warmth,
Security.

The textures,
Soft and rough,
Metrometric rise and fall,
Occasional shifts,
Constant peace,
Resting,
Fitting,
Pressure,
Patterns,
Depth.

Spurred by rain and impending eyes,
Rushing on,
Exhilaration.
Vibrant, brilliant, psychedelic chromatics.
Melting tones,
Air cutting,
Screaming,
Joy.

Monday was persistent energy and steady annoyance,
similar to the whine of an old motor.

Tuesday was venom dripping into sugar,
as biting words coated in carelessness stung in an unknown degree.

Wednesday was watching the cycle of the sky while paralyzed,
as my focus slips in and out of reality.

Thursday was inconsistent rain.
Violent, steady, refreshing, and cold.

Friday was heat burning behind my eyes,
mixed with paranoia and lethargy.