Two 17 year olds on a single bed,
happy,
pulling apart at the slightest noise.

One 17 year old sitting,
shaking,
stating that he's in love.

Two 17 year olds hugging,
entwined,
so he can't see her face.

One 17 year old trying to explain,
hesitantly,
how she just isn't there yet.

Two 17 year olds.

One in love.

One in like.

Inspired by the
prosaic.

She may be my blood,
but I am not her.
She has the same looks,
but I can not be compared.

You think they give me a goal,
but they just make her look better when
I fail.

These pressures.
constant fault.
never gain.

She may be my blood,
but I am not her.