She is a flower
Out to glamorize everything she touches
And everything she sets foot on

She is a flower
Admired for her beauty
That casts light on your gloomy day

She is a flower
Your object of adoration
Where your loyalty lies

She is a flower
A cure to the sickness
Unfolding within you

She is the flower
You picked up rashly
And took away from where she’s supposed to be

She is the flower
Caged in the vase locked in your dark room
No one else can see

She is the flower
Stray in your heart
That blocks the daylight she deserves to indulge herself in

She is the flower
You so much care for
That she wilts in your selfish hands

The internal clock winds down another year
Time keeps going by faster i fear
How much longer am i supposed to be here
That's not up for me to decide
Or is it
Who knows anymore
Certainly not me
Counted my birthdays on five year intervals with my fingers and toes
I've ran out
Nineteen years old still so very concerned with what life is about
I'm wasting time
Or am i
Who knows anymore
Am i still in my youth
What little youth i had
You tend to grow up very fast when self loathing thoughts are all you've ever had
Praying to a god to relieve you of always being so sad
Relative to everything that's happened in the past
I cannot release this hot burning coal
Its not as simple as letting things go

I’m a few hours
and minutes
and seconds
away from adding a year
to my relatively irrelevant age
and I contemplate the complexities
of such a small number.

Nineteen.

Legally an adult,
but not nearly ready
to enter the world
on my own.

I cannot even fathom  
               braving the hallways of
               horrendous high school
or
               supporting myself and
               being on time for my insurance
               all while balancing a career

I’m stuck in the middle
of this whirlwind
of emotions and numbers
and candles and time
and homework and paychecks
and everything else
that comes with the titles of
student and teenager
and adult and employee.

It’s minutes before
I can blow out the candles
on eighteen
but I also extinguish another bit
of dependence.

The internal clock winds down another year
Time keeps going by faster i fear
How much longer am i supposed to be here
That's not up for me to decide
Or is it
Who knows anymore
Certainly not me
Counted my birthdays on five year intervals with my fingers and toes
I've ran out
Twenty one years old still so very concerned with what life is about
I'm wasting time
Or am i
Who knows anymore
Am i still in my youth
What little youth i had
You tend to grow up very fast when self loathing thoughts are all you've ever had
Praying to a god to relieve you of always being so sad
Relative to everything that's happened in the past
I cannot release this hot burning coal
Its not as simple as letting things go

The younger kid
Looks at the older girl
And wonders
Why she doesn't drive yet

Why she's still riding the
School bus,

He wonders
Why her ears are plugged
So deep,
Throbbing with sounds
He can almost hear.

He wonders
Why she looks so sullen.
So somber.

At his younger age,
There's not as much
To be sad about yet.
But he doesn't know.
And she's not about to tell him.

They're separated by years
And he can't quite understand her
But she understands
Him,
wondering.
Because she used to do it too.

Why did i ever grow up?

Like my 5 poems
And I will like your 10 poems
Hip hip hurray

be a poet
if you must
but know this
from one who cares

it is an addiction
that will cause strife

you will learn
stuff you never really
wanted to know

you will find pieces
of your soul
best forgotten

you will stay awake
late into the night
trying to twist a phrase
til, it turns out just right.

there will be tears
and much frustration
at times you will
neglect your
everyday life

oh there will be angst
and fear as you let
your poems go
and see your words fly

and yes i cannot deny
there will be joy
as you discover
new words
with which to toy

so be a poet, if you must
if you have, a liking
for garrets and starvation
enough to offset your
word lust

just be original
don't be a parrot
it is your life
you get to chose
your own folly...