I am 16 and I am excited.
My birthday is coming up soon,
I will be 17 and everything
Will finally be different.

I will almost be an adult.
And my voice will be heard (I think).
I am on the cusp of it,
At the brink of defining my lifetime
(I am picking universities),
Things will be different.

I am 17 and I have makeup on.
(It isn’t great, but my eyelids sparkle)
And I'm wearing a pretty dress.
(A little too big but it sits fine)
My friends say I'm beautiful
And for the first time I believe it.
Things are already different.

I am 17 and I come home.
I am buzzed from dinner,
(They let me have a single glass of wine)
I am high on life,
I feel like I’m infinite, like I’m not so small,
At least not anymore.

Then she sees my dress
And she is disappointed.
She says I look like a “painted *****”,
Not pretty, not more,
Not magical, not different.
And suddenly I don't feel 17.
I mean I am 17, but I don't feel it.

I am 17 and things have changed,
I have changed.
But nothing is different.