fourteen. fourteen and I am alive. fourteen and yet I feel like I am five fourteen and my poems still aren't that good fourteen and my skin still scars just as often fourteen and I don't talk to my mom as much I used to fourteen and I still hate my body fourteen and I still hate my body fourteen and I never liked celebrating my birthdays fourteen and I never liked waking up on my birthdays to a stranger who looks like me and sounds like me but isn't me because I'm fourteen and that's supposed to make a difference fourteen and I feel like I am too young to be writing about the things I do but my cousin's fourteen and she does the things I am afraid to write about fourteen and this is probably the only honest poem I've ever written in my life fourteen that's probably why it isn't that good fourteen and I feel like I'm running out of things to say fourteen yet there are so many things I haven't said fourteen and I miss the way people used to love me fourteen and I feel like it's ****** up that I don't miss the way I used to love me because fourteen was when I stopped remembering what that feeling felt like fourteen and I don't hate school as much as I thought I would fourteen and there's nobody in my school I'd celebrate my birthday with fourteen and I haven't talked to someone I love in months fourteen and I have more regrets than my age fourteen and I realize that means nothing but it feels like it means everything fourteen and I used to dream about doing impossible things but fourteen is the number of dreams I have that died fourteen and I don't blame the people that have given me love and then tossed it aside because it's been a year and my tears have dried fourteen and I have learned my heart is an abandoned garden that only grows weeds and that planting flowers in it is useless fourteen and it took me a long time to realize that I am more than just my age fourteen and I wish I was still five, with my hair curly and my mother's soft singing the only tune in my mind but I am fourteen and life is supposed to be better in ten days when I turn fifteen and yet I have a feeling everything will be the same
(h.l.)
tried to write a happy poem about my birthday...don't think I succeeded