I am eighteen years old.
That doesn't seem like a lot,
But to me,
It is everything.

Eighteen years is all I've ever known.
Even if I died tomorrow,
Still eighteen.
While that might not seem like much to you.
You are probably not eighteen.

Despite my age,
I have been through a lot.
Some say more than most,
Even then those who are older.

At eight years old I lost my dad.
At eleven years old I lost my mom.
At eighteen years old,
I've learned to be okay with that.

Between eleven and thirteen I was abused.
I eventually escaped and was safe again.
At eighteen years old I am still in fear of this sometimes,
But I am working on that.

At seventeen years old I applied for college.
I was accepted and excited to go.
At eighteen years old I dropped out.
All of the anxiety and illnesses became too much,
But I am working on that.

For eighteen years I've dealt with mental illness.
Currently being called Bipolar,
Manic and depressive episodes are common,
But I am working on that.

In the past eighteen years,
I've learned new things.
I've learned who to trust,
And who to believe.
However,
I am still working on the difference between them.

In eighteen years I've learned to let go.
Toxic or not.
Family or not.
Just letting grudges be free.
I'm still working on that.

In eighteen years I've learned skills.
With the musicals I've been in.
With my writing continuing.
Even better at communicating now.

But yet I am eighteen.
With time hopefully left,
Leaving room to gain new experiences,
Because eighteen isn't a lot.

But I do thank eighteen.
For all that it has taught me.
From being confident,
To being reassured,
And everything in between.

Because I am almost nineteen.
And nineteen is a lot.

it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
my sister lies in a hospital bed after a suicide attempt.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
yesterday i was at the mall while my sister was rushed to the er.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she swallowed a bottle of pills yesterday to try to make the hurt go away.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
her heart rate went down too low.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she needed me when i wasn't there.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
my nightmares have become a reality.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she's not dead, but she isn't alive.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
the demons lurk in her eyes and i want them gone as much as she does.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she looked so pale with the charcoal staining her tongue black.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i sit here with a blade and consider breaking my promise.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i continue to repeat these lines.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
maybe it's a mantra, but it feels like my last words.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i want her back home.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
the desperation in my soul begins to surface.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
come home soon squish.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
otherwise i might join you in that hospital bed.

I am turning eighteen yet I still don’t know how to be myself. I am turning eighteen yet I don’t want to put my dream on the shelf. I am turning eighteen yet I’m terrified to express my opinion. I am turning eighteen yet the things I haven’t done are a million. I am turning eighteen yet I don’t know how to talk to strangers. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never been exposed to all of this world's dangers. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never believed in myself. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never seen the movie elf. I am turning eighteen yet I've never been with you. I am turning eighteen yet I never have a clue. I am turning eighteen yet I feel like I'm fifteen. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never learned a routine. I am turning eighteen yet I still sleep with my teddy. I am turning eighteen but I don’t think i am ready.

Eighteen, a number rattled off a ticket,
Eighteen, the number of days I have left
Eighteen days to make a decision.
Eight plus one equals seven.
Seven, the year before my innocence was taken again.
Eight minus one equals six.
Six, the year of therapy for my traumaized mind.
Eighteen years in Eighteen days in Eighteen hours I have.
I have on a roster, I have in my head.
Oh dear one, will I be dead?
Fallen from the cradle the baby do fall.
She tumbled and cried and death was the end result.
I too am the baby never to grow up.
Eighteen days until my cradle will fall and I will cry.
When in life is this decision made?
Decision of the mind to place action to body?
Tumble bumble, falling little baby.
Eighteen days, the time I have left.
Eighteen years, a deadline I can't procrastinate.
Eighteen lifetimes,
Eighteen.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Fourteen years old
I love you,
Called out,
A promise of returned affection
Timid, unsure
A response to
Insecurities.
Not true.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Fifteen years old
Distrustful
Cynical
Confused
Emotions flapping about like lost geese
Nothing like all the before’s
So this is what must be
True.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Sixteen years old,
That feeling
Tumultuous but calming
Broken yet whole
Lost but found
Your deep, beautiful eyes
Painful beyond belief, yet the best thing I’ve ever felt
Simply, it's true
I love you.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Seventeen years old,
It’s true
What is?
That
You’re my truth
And
I love you.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted yet
True.

Seventeen years old,
I love you
But…
I ****** up
I love you
But…
I kissed someone else
We never set boundaries
But….
I know I did wrong
I love you
But…
I truly can’t be with you right now.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.  

Seventeen years old,
You’re awesome
We’re so similar
So,
I love you?
No,
I realize that belongs to someone else,
But you think it's yours.
And that isn't true.
****.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Seventeen years old,
I hate myself
Because I’ve hurt you
Your pain is killing me
Though really, it’s me
Killing you
I love you,
It's true.
But,
How can you ever forgive me?

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old,
I love you
It’s true
But you’re broken still
And I wish I could heal the horror
I caused
For you.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.  

Eighteen years old,
I love you
Whispered gently
Deeply
Truly
I want to kiss you
I want to hold you
I want to be with you
Can we, please?

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old,
Yes. We can.
I love you too.
I still truly do.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old,
I love you
But…
Why are you doing this to me?
Why can’t you talk to me instead of hiding behind the texts?
What’s happening?
Please.
Don’t do it this way.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.  

Eighteen years old,
Tears
Broken
Mind exploding with assumptions
Intuition telling the worst of tales
Distrustful
Hurt
Why this pain?

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.  

Eighteen years old,
Bitter
Am I jealous?
This isn’t good…
What’s happened to me?
Helpless and
Still true
I love you
But...
Who knows why?

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old,
And here come apologies
A letter…. I love letters
And
I love you too
Still,
Somehow.
It's true.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old
I don’t know what’s wrong with me
Sad
Hurt
Insecure
Doubtful
Distrustful
Broken
Beyond belief
Empty.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old
And
I keep crying
I cried because you were so caring towards to me the other day
And it was so sweet.
I cried because you hugged me and let me cry on you
I cried because I love staring into your deep soulful eyes
I cried because I feel so much, all the time, for you
I cried because sometimes I truly hate how much
I love you.

I love you,
Goodnight
Every night, since forever ago
Rhythm
Routine
Family, friends
Taken for granted, yet
True.

Eighteen years old,
And goodnight dear one,
I still really do love you. 
And, I promise you 
All of this is true.

I wrap my arms about my torso and brush my thoughts 'gainst you,
crying.

Rainwater best cures a torn-soul
when boiled in a *** atop
a burner left burning all night.

Crying,
the sky giveth us wonders and taketh the wonders away.

O' the water's down a'boilin'.
Ye' it all boils down to you.
To you and how you go.
Ye' when you go, you go.
O' where you a'goin' too?

See that go-getter go-gettin' his girl–
Good for him. Good for him.

Send some good for the man with a will when he wills his will to be.
And good for the fingers who first feel a fortune 'fore the fortune is seen.
And good for the addicts relapsing in attics with kisses of dopamine.
And good for the thoughts of you that brush against my skin,
that for days on will hold–

Eighteen! Eighteen! I say eighteen years is the bridge,
the forest fires will forever forget to burn!

I say give it a year and call him on that telephone and
he will answer on that telephone and
you will beg his heart come home, beggin' a'bargainin'–

Eighteen! Eighteen! I have missed you for some time,
bent-to-bet a century's pass'd since we last kissed.

One match done been lit in the county matchbook.
Such is the click-click of a gas stove igniting,
I call that rip-exciting, torn-enticing, fates be a'dicing–

*Eighteen! Eighteen! It was another day–
It was another life.

I want to make the world a better place
but
Poverty is a disease on its own
the prerequisite to depression
U
S
A
only trying to stay
stay rich
and sway
sway money in front of those who are just out of its reach
and then they preach
“If we give handouts they wont know how to work and they will wait for us to do everything for them. it’s not our fault they ****** up their life, theirs.”
it’s their fault
nineteen year old mother
cares for 3 week old baby
“cut loose” for missing two nights on the street corner because she couldn’t handle selling her body when
when years from now
her daughter will call her mommy
and her **** will call her sloppy
and she
will look scrawny
and now as she puts 3 week old baby to sleep in her
cardboard box crib
and think to herself
“this is my fault, I couldn’t find any other work. So I had to sell her mother to nothing more than an object.”
well now that cardboard crib kid is
eighteen
and fresh out of school
fresh on the streets
fresh flesh enmeshed
tangled in the rich mans net
starting the cycle over again because
at eighteen
on her own
she cant afford college
at eighteen
on her own
even if she has the knowledge
at eighteen
living in the streets
at eighteen
pregnant
--------
Mommy wasn’t there when she took teenage boy in the ally for the first time
taught it was okay because they needed money
and she knew no better way
baby had nothing to say
baby just needed the pay
now there is no way
she now is her mother
and baby is now inside her
and poverty has tied her
and the government denied her
mother never to guide her
and as she lied down her her bed all she could think of is
maybe if I wasn’t so poor
the government might care about me
-------
future baby
cradled in the mind of loving mother
regretful for choice of father
hoping
“maybe this will all go away
maybe if I pray
I wont live another day”
Poverty a disease on its own
the prerequisite to depression
because
U
S
A
is the only country who has the
power
freedom and ability to change the poverty rates and chooses
to only offer jobs to those who own a house
instead of those who need them
ignored by those who could help
because they are the ones who need it
poverty is a disease
and you better believe it runs in the family
poverty begets poverty
believe me
I’m not suggesting communism
but when a man can have a ninety dollar glass of wine
but that eighteen year old can’t even afford to buy something to eat
Change is needed
people getting cheated
don’t tell me there is freedom
when I see how the poor are treated
not eating
they are human
and we pass by and ignore them like animals
tangible
pass by graves
candles
people killed by a government disease
leaving parents absent
children abandoned
and don’t tell me
there is nothing we can do
because seeing men live in 100 million dollar mansions
when someone out there
eighteen years old
is left with no more chances
chances are this wont change anything
but to stand by
and allow people to die
is ******
and poverty
is genocide
we can’t hide
the inequality
or when given the affordable health care policy
call it comedy
honestly
its time for an apology
and to stop the hypocrisy
because poverty is commonly
in large quantities
and logically
poverty shouldn’t be an unborn child’s prophecy
just because their a impoverished mothers progeny
doesn’t mean their life couldn’t be quality
so pardon me
while I speak audibly
when I say the government has no monopoly
on poverty

When we were eighteen
sang the three women in chorus
and the bus burst into Spring.

When we were eighteen
they giggled and sang

the bus was a garden
the seats swings in the wind
the passengers angels and fairies

When we were eighteen
sang the three women
men beamed and the women blushed
as they broke into chorus
when we were eighteen

the ride was free
and they all stood up
their bones bellowing the chorus
their skin shining in the Spring

the child grew into eighteen
the old descended into that golden year
never knowing when their stoppage came
when one after the other they got down
and again it was a bus on the road
but with the whiff of Spring
eternal in the crimson blush
of the sun setting and rising
its engine and axle and tyres whirring in chorus
when we were eighteen

At eighteen I'm the scent of second-day hair with perfume in it
It smells like your bed, and my sweat, and your exhales, and my Juicy Couture Viva la Juicy . How middle school of me.  
I'm the cool touch of unwashed sheets on bare skin because the thermostat is fussy and I like sleeping naked
Just me, you, and this body that I don't like so much right now, but I'm eighteen, and I'm working on that.
I'm leggings while they still pass for pants, and the chewed up ends of pens in twenty different colors
Chinese homework has really turned me into such a biter, and I claim to love all those darling pens equally, but I show my blue pens the most love
I've teethed them half to death
I'm not even close to halfway to death assuming things go well for me. Oh, please let things go well for me.

At eighteen I'm the taste of chai and menthol because that's what's **** these days
I'm all about what's **** these days. Apathy, really bad electronic music, bare midriffs.
Funny since at eighteen I don't want anyone to touch me
This body is my project, please don’t even look at me like this, all insecure and exposed. Please just let me curl up, and please let me be by myself.
I wish my mother were here to bring me a popsicle. My throat hurts from all the screaming I do these days.

At eighteen I guess I'm still a little angsty, but I just want you to love me
God, do I want you to love me.
I want you to patronize me with the warmth of your arms and undress me with strong, resolved hands
Don't touch me, just look at me and tell me that I'm perfect and naive because at eighteen I'm still milky white, soft, and broken
I'm a sight for sore eyes, a new sight, your sight
For god's sake
Just love me.

Children between the ages of six and ten
boys not even close to being men
And you, you call yourself a man?
A man of what, of cowardice
a man of strange
of deranged
thoughts
scared faces
reduced to
scarred hearts
unable to heal
being torn apart
All the pain is too real
The eighteen children too young to know
to go to the unknown
A place set for a person no longer here
Eighteen children you robbed of their lives
put their families through all the fear
For what reason
Children no older than fingers on their hands
no younger than the time on their stands
standing graves for eighteen children
who won't know anymore of a summer breeze
or getting down on one knee
to pledge the love
the same love you took
from families
and victims alike
Causing all the strife
So you call yourself a man
when you stood before
eighteen children
That you put on their death bed
along with yourself
who couldn't listen
to his own **** head.
36 parents who have to
identify their child
who no longer roams free and wild
all because you exiled
The innocence and life
out of eighteen
bight
children
Tell me, what right
did you have
to be given the title
of a *Man

i turn eighteen today
and there are no words to describe it
it's weird to know
that i will never
be younger than i am right now.
you're at a crossroad of conflict
eighteen years young
eighteen years old
half of you wishes for adulthood
for the smell of freedom
the chance to begin a world you call your own
to explore your potential
the other half wishes to bury it's face in your mother's skirt
scared to leave
unsure of what the next move is
because no one is there to tell you
eighteen years young
eighteen years old