My Instagram and Twitter bios read,
‘Your friendly neighborhood garbage can,’
Maybe it’s because I'm afraid to be human,
Because being human means being somebody,
And being somebody means needing somebody,
Because no man is an island,
Therefore, if I am a can,
Specifically of garbage,
Then its ok to be alone,

Lately being alone is like being home,
An empty house full of empty rooms,
A place that I’ll be leaving soon,
Because just like this house,
Being alone can’t last forever,
Because everybody says that things get better,
And whether or not that's true is still up for debate,

And to every friend I’ve ever told that I am worth nothing,
I’m sorry for lying,
The truth is,
I’m scared of the truth,
If I admit that I’m worth something,
Then all the sudden this nothing becomes something,
Expectations, aspirations, goals for me to reach,
That I fear I never will,
I’m short you see,
And I’m only seventeen,
Yet it still feels like the world’s weight is on me,
Like I have to carry my family,
And I don’t understand why,

I’m still a child,
I still have a while,
To decide who I want to be,
Why does it feel like I need to know immediately?
Mom, I don’t want to be a lawyer,
But a poet’s paycheck won’t put you in a retirement home,

I’m on my last leg at seventeen,
I’m drowning in a sea of life,
I can barely breath,
And I am a child,
And honestly,
A child is all I ever wanted to be.

So past me,
I’m sorry for growing up.