The poem starts now.

I'm sixteen and I've had a fake I.D since the 8th grade, but please don't judge me just know all of my nights have ended great but when I wake up it's the process of forgetting what I don't wanna remember.
I'm sixteen and I am not Mary.
I said
I'm sixteen and I've poured my heart out in mostly all of my poems, I've admitted to having *** with boys just so I could feel like I was something not just a chunk of unneeded space.
My best friend used to tell me that she always keeps an extra pregnancy test just in case she feels pregnant again.... Yes she said again.... She's only sixteen.. And after that last abortion you would think she would have stopped having *** with twenty year old boys who tell her she's ****. My best friend is only sixteen.
......We talked about making our Wills one day... Sometimes I feel like my time is coming... I'm only sixteen....

This is the ending of the poem...