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addy_lilpeeplover13Poems
Fifteen, and already feeling the ground shift under my feet, like life isn’t just something far away anymore— It’s right here, starting in small places, starting with me. There’s that Exxon in town, the one most people pass without thinking twice, But I can still feel the hum of it in my chest, the memory of that training shift— how I stood there, nervous at first, then steadier, then sure, like maybe I belonged there more than I thought. And when they said I did well, it didn’t just sound like words— it felt like a door cracking open, like someone saw something in me that I’m still learning to see in myself. Eight dollars an hour, every two weeks, It might not sound like much to anyone else, But to me, it sounds like independence, like the first real piece of a life I’m building with my own hands. I imagine holding that paycheck, not just money, but proof— proof that I showed up, that I tried, that I’m capable of more than just dreaming. And I won’t waste it. I’ll save it, stack it, protect it, Watch it grow little by little into something bigger than it started. Maybe a four-wheeler first— mud on the tires, wind in my face, freedom humming under me on back roads that feel like they belong to no one but me. And then one day, when I’ve got my license, when I’ve done it right and earned it fully, I’ll go after my dream— a Ford Mustang, engine loud, heart louder, the kind of car that doesn’t just drive But announces that I made it somewhere I once only imagined. Not rushed. Not handed to me. Earned. And while I’m building all of this here, There’s a whole other piece of my life living miles and oceans away. He’s there in the Cayman Islands, working at a hotel, living his days in a place that probably feels like a different world compared to my West Virginia roads and hills. Three years between us, distance stretching longer than I can even picture, But somehow it doesn’t break us. It’s emails that mean more than they should, words typed out but felt deeper than spoken, little pieces of each other sent back and forth like we’re building a bridge out of sentences. It’s Zoom calls where I just sit and watch him, the quiet moments, the almost-silence that still feels full, Like just seeing him breathe is enough to make the distance hurt a little less. It’s not easy— not even close. But it’s real. And real is something I’m learning to hold onto. And then there’s my friends, the ones right here, the ones who laugh with me until nothing else matters, who check on me without making it a big deal, who stay even when life gets messy or quiet. They’re the steady part, the part that reminds me I don’t have to do this alone, that even while I’m growing and changing, I still have somewhere to land. So yeah— maybe it’s just a job to some people, just eight dollars an hour, just a small town beginning. But to me, It’s the first real step into my own life. It’s learning how to earn, how to save, How to wait for the things that matter instead of rushing into them. It’s building something steady out of something small. Because I’m not just dreaming anymore— I’m planning. I’m not just wishing— I’m working. And even at fifteen, I can feel it happening, piece by piece— a paycheck in my hand, a four-wheeler on a dirt road, a future Ford Mustang waiting somewhere ahead, love that stretches across oceans but still holds strong, friends that keep me grounded, and a version of me That’s growing into all of it. Slowly. Surely. Becoming someone who didn’t just hope for a life— but built one.
0
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 10:43 PM UTC
Fifteen, in Love, and Almost Hired
Fifteen, and already feeling the ground shift under my feet, like life isn’t just something far away anymore— It’s right here, starting in small places, starting with me. There’s that Exxon in town, the one most people pass without thinking twice, But I can still feel the hum of it in my chest, the memory of that training shift— how I stood there, nervous at first, then steadier, then sure, like maybe I belonged there more than I thought. And when they said I did well, it didn’t just sound like words— it felt like a door cracking open, like someone saw something in me that I’m still learning to see in myself. Eight dollars an hour, every two weeks, It might not sound like much to anyone else, But to me, it sounds like independence, like the first real piece of a life I’m building with my own hands. I imagine holding that paycheck, not just money, but proof— proof that I showed up, that I tried, that I’m capable of more than just dreaming. And I won’t waste it. I’ll save it, stack it, protect it, Watch it grow little by little into something bigger than it started. Maybe a four-wheeler first— mud on the tires, wind in my face, freedom humming under me on back roads that feel like they belong to no one but me. And then one day, when I’ve got my license, when I’ve done it right and earned it fully, I’ll go after my dream— a Ford Mustang, engine loud, heart louder, the kind of car that doesn’t just drive But announces that I made it somewhere I once only imagined. Not rushed. Not handed to me. Earned. And while I’m building all of this here, There’s a whole other piece of my life living miles and oceans away. He’s there in the Cayman Islands, working at a hotel, living his days in a place that probably feels like a different world compared to my West Virginia roads and hills. Three years between us, distance stretching longer than I can even picture, But somehow it doesn’t break us. It’s emails that mean more than they should, words typed out but felt deeper than spoken, little pieces of each other sent back and forth like we’re building a bridge out of sentences. It’s Zoom calls where I just sit and watch him, the quiet moments, the almost-silence that still feels full, Like just seeing him breathe is enough to make the distance hurt a little less. It’s not easy— not even close. But it’s real. And real is something I’m learning to hold onto. And then there’s my friends, the ones right here, the ones who laugh with me until nothing else matters, who check on me without making it a big deal, who stay even when life gets messy or quiet. They’re the steady part, the part that reminds me I don’t have to do this alone, that even while I’m growing and changing, I still have somewhere to land. So yeah— maybe it’s just a job to some people, just eight dollars an hour, just a small town beginning. But to me, It’s the first real step into my own life. It’s learning how to earn, how to save, How to wait for the things that matter instead of rushing into them. It’s building something steady out of something small. Because I’m not just dreaming anymore— I’m planning. I’m not just wishing— I’m working. And even at fifteen, I can feel it happening, piece by piece— a paycheck in my hand, a four-wheeler on a dirt road, a future Ford Mustang waiting somewhere ahead, love that stretches across oceans but still holds strong, friends that keep me grounded, and a version of me That’s growing into all of it. Slowly. Surely. Becoming someone who didn’t just hope for a life— but built one.
addy_lilpeeplover13
Written by
addy_lilpeeplover13
15/F/wv
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 10:43 PM UTC
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