Before a breath in, it is there—
muggy, swampy, heavenly.
Before a barefoot step outside, sweat folds
into the skin and won’t let go

that time they write about
is upon us.
Consider this the preface
to a 19th summer.

Where you sneak around
drinking sub-par humid beer,
stolen from the forgotten bucket left outside.
The June when you finally get to see
what all the fuss is about—
a sweaty push and pull you’ve wondered about
for years.

Freedom is before you,
released from the shackles of high school,
from a love that came too quickly,
and refused to leave.

get on that train,
into that car that you can finally touch;
do things with that boy you don’t love.

Home has never felt more like home
than when you’re on the porch,
venturing into a midnight
that is dripping with warmth
and the knowledge that never again
could you feel this young
and this old.

I cant keep my hands from shaking when I write about you.
I get nervous, and I stutter when I speak to you.
I'm always scared that we're drifting miles apart,
and what ***** me up most is knowing that neither of us want the distance.
I think I miss you more clearly when I write about you.
I keep listening to the songs that you gave me too.
you look so cute in your smile.
I know that sounded weird.
I'm sorry.
The truth is I get a very honest tug at the corners of my lips when I see you.
I know that what I'm about to say will sound sad and pathetic,
but I practically live for the hug you give me at the end of the day.
I'm sorry.
You'll probably never read this anyway.
I just really hope that tonight goes well.

B-b-birthday gal,
Walking down her b-b-birthday hall,
In her b-b-birthday gown,
looking like a ******* clown.

It's my birthday, and its a day like anyother day,
I don't feel any older but I suppose it makes a difference,
Because A-a-age does matter, well in this world,
And A-a-age can get you a lot of things.

I can get a job, and work my way to the top,
I don't have to pay any T-t-taxes, and I'm still living with my mom.
And I w-w-wish, that my dad can s-s-see this.
Watching me age up, into a young adult.

I guess it for the b-b-best, everything happens for a reason.
And I guess, I'm turning 15

Today is my birthday
In which I was born 15 years ago.
Happy? I am not.
Do I know why? No.

Because who would believe me
15 years old,
Drunk,
and dressed like a ****