I look at the mirror, someone's staring at me.
I'm eighteen, oh gee.

I get out. Everyone's smiling.
"It's your birthday!", smiles all beaming.

Yet deep down I am filled with worry.
What will my life come to be?

But alas, it is my birthday.
I've noticed how much I've grown.
My face hardly changed,
but I know my actions have shown.

I am now legal.
A great time for most.
No, I will not be chugging down alcohol,
but I will write poetry to sing my songs.