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Kristen D Jan 2014
I can’t wait to grow up,
to have the freedom to dress how I want, whether that’s sweats or skirts;
to talk how I want, and have my opinions matter;
and do what I want when I want, and not be held back.

I can’t wait to look back on life,
and see that what I thought was an endless mountain of troubles,
was just a grain of sand in a desert.

To laugh at my old journals and scrapbooks,
admiring the innocence and individuality,
vowing to never forget.

I can’t wait to run my own life,
to be my own authority,
and not be inspected like a creature under a microscope.

I can’t wait to get a job,
follow my desires and dreams from childhood,
and to be able to support myself and be my own role model.

I can’t wait to live on my own,
to spend endless days in a cozy apartment reading, getting lost in someone else’s story,
and playing my guitar, washing away my worries and stress like a waterfall.

Singing at the top of my lungs,
having movie marathons every weekend,
and going to bed whenever I please.

I can’t wait to find my one true love,
to spend the rest of my life with them, trusting like I never have before,
fitting together like lost puzzle pieces.

To exchange the classic vows,
dressed in white and black, with a touch of pink,
our families crying and laughing all night.

I can’t wait to have children,
to give them my heart and soul,
watch them grow up, déjà vu at its finest.

Taking care of them day to day,
from scratches to unstoppable giggles,
their green eyes shining with wonder and innocence.

I can’t wait to grow old,
still with my one love, in a little house with a white picket fence,
watching our grandchildren laugh and play.

Passing down years of wisdom,
young ears eager to listen to our mistakes and stories from a long life together,
helping them prepare for their futures.

I can’t wait to grow up.
I can’t wait to love.
I can’t wait to live.
Kristen D Apr 2014
What is justice?
It is this intangible
feeling of right-doing.
A word that allows us to continue on
without a cloud of guilt.
But is it real?
Can we rid ourselves of a wrong-doing
by “serving justice?”
Does it just go away?
What about the family?
Or the everlasting effects of the act?
It can’t disappear.
Justice is our shapeshifting scapegoat;
we mold it to fit out selfish minds
and waltz out of the issue feeling
clean,
innocent.
But we are all tainted,
forever stained by the things we tried to wash away.
So, what is justice?
A lie.

— The End —