On the evening of my sixteenth birthday
I remember curling my hair with an iron and
burning the tips of my fingers pink,
mumbling pained words under my breath
that I probably shouldn’t ever repeat
unless I desire to live beneath the shadows
of adult eyebrows being raised so high
they might never come back down

as if they had never said something like that
before

that night I put on a silver dress,
and lipstick so red it almost gave the illusion
that I had been bleeding from the mouth
but I felt unstoppable, so why not?

“why not” was the question
that was always replaced with stone-cold silence
and the shrug of a shoulder
instead of an answer

that night, I blew out sixteen flaming candles
and felt beautiful,
surrounded by the smiles of friends I had met in high school
and ones I had known since the days when our only worries
revolved around who had the prettier Barbie doll
and who held hands during recess in the fourth grade
and these thoughts caused my stomach to somersault because,
now that we were illuminated by candlelight and the brightness of celebration,
everything had changed.


I blew out my candles and did not wish
for a car, or a new wardrobe, or for more
faces to call my friends, but rather,

I wished to be taken seriously.

I knew there was a deep-rooted problem
when I became acquainted with real love for the first time
And everyone said that I was too young, too incompetent to understand
What that word even meant,
That I was silly for believing that such a concept could exist
When you’re sixteen and five and a half feet tall
and not that great at chemistry or parallel parking
and can barely even hold up a strapless dress
as if somehow that dictated
that I was too small, too stupid to realize that
love was something much bigger than I am
but I did.
I do.

And there is something so contagiously twisted
That lurks in our society like a epidemic
The idea when your age lies between thirteen and eighteen
you are not really a person
that instead, you are a shadow of ignorance that sleeps all day
and clothes yourself in different shades of apathy
and that the only things you care about are
alcohol-induced parties on Friday nights and
losing morals and hours of sleep while gaining temporary highs
as if that is the highest I will ever go in life

you have to be kidding me.

because you might look at someone like me
and snarkily remark that I never look up from the screen of my phone
and you might think that my taste in music is repulsive or that
I’m only holding his hand because I love the thrill of letting it go,
and you might think that people my age have brains
that contain only a spoonful of intellect and the rest is just
empty space filled up with disease
but maybe it is time that your pedestal falls
and you realize that the older the wiser
is hardly ever true at all

I have witnessed lives spiraling out of control

the truth is not that we are dirt
and no, I am not taking pictures of myself unclothed
or chatting with strangers in online rooms
maybe the reason why I’m on my phone
is because I’m talking my best friend out of killing herself
and I’m researching time travel and why the happiest people hurt the most
and a cure for my own depression
and better words to fit my poetry
I am not equal to the garbage you see kicked to the curb of the street
Or scenery while you ride on by in your horse and carriage

I am just as great
As someone who has spent 80 years of their life achieving
And if time is uncontrollable
Then why am I being treated like somehow,
I have not chosen to be here long enough to know anything at all

And one day I dream of having my words praised for the truth that they are
Rather than having eyes roll back in guilty judgment
Because I have not lived as long as you have
And yet I am the one writing the words

Because yes, I am sixteen.
I haven’t even been here for two decades
but I do not search for happiness in empty glass bottles and clouds of smoke like you think I do
and I do not play with hearts like they’re made of matches
because I know that they burn
and when I tell him that I love him
I am not doing it to **** time
and I know that life is sacred and
impossible to retrieve once it’s gone and I am not going to waste
the precious seconds of my own aching until someone decides
that maybe, I am worth listening to.

Because I know that I am.
And on my sixteenth birthday,
as I smiled scarlet in every photograph
I was right--
I am unstoppable.

There are two friends, visibly best friends
gripping each other close, hugging.
a smile painted on both faces, wide and bright.
genuine in the moments grasp
their eyes fixed, entertained
by the flutter of a camera.
music takes over
devours every sector of the room
dominates the energy in the air.
everyone is a puppet, controlled
by the master of rhythm, beat and tempo.
repressed chatter is in the distance,
people craving their next solo cup
leaned over the bar,
gesturing towards the beer keg.
these two friends, absorbed in time.
laugh, smile, dance
concealing their inner battle.
the one on the right,
confused and drained
from the roller coaster
she let’s control her happiness.
trapped and torn in a relationship
full of fierce chemistry and
abundant sudden heartbreaks
captivated in the irrational
desire to be with him.
accepting love, she deserves more from.
The one on the left
unhappy, depleted.
on her own, left to be mature
to pay bills, to work, to be a student.
she is obligated to put food on the table,
to be a mother to her brother
to be strong and tough.
together they fulfill their emptiness
by descending into the party life
to cope, and escape the reality of their world
eager to welcome the fake happiness
that knocks at their chamber.

I don't know why now, however I was gazing at this picture in which I was dressed in a black dress and your arms are snaked around my waist, my head inched towards your shoulder and your gaze falling on me,  and suddenly it seemed so agonisingly pleasant how happy I was in that moment. And somehow all that happened between us didn't mattered looking at the picture, yes we aren't together now. In that frozen moment you holded me and I would have preferred no one else. In that snapped picture it was you and me for each other , loving ,caring , filled with affection . that moment captured in the photograph , I realised will remain like that always, that in that picture you and me will remain forever, lasting till it needs to fade, persisting in memory , in frozen times, in pictures ,in stares.
So maybe we are over now, but in some plane where there is no reason you and I still exist together, where there is no need for explanations, of lost love and evaporate feelings. Where you and I will last forever.

I keep my walls swarmed with photos
Of faces I no longer see
And places I no longer go
The things I loved I now grow to hate
As always I realised too late

There's such an irony in seeking happiness
From what is now distant memories
And I've been torn away into a loop
Into the isolation of being alone
Who I've become now is still not known

I find humour in the worst times
In the sudden realisation that the best times
Of my few years has passed
And I feel myself fading away
When I can't keep the thoughts at bay

I've been waiting for someone to say
Anything to show that they know me
And I end up alone here again when
Even in a desperate attempt to feel
There is nothing that feels real

I hold a photograph, black and white
Up in front of me, and connect the lines
The structure of the buildings, the trees, and the pavement
The bridge and its railings, the shop window and canopy
And the scene in front of me, the one I’m living in
It’s beautiful and lively, full of real colour and light
With tourists looking down at maps, taking their photographs
Children running around with cones of ice cream in their hands
Cars rolling by, going off to a tall glass building somewhere
Advertisements on the street show the next thing we should buy

But the photograph I hold in my hand, it tells a different story
Of a crippled economy and time when life was a horror movie
The buildings were mere shadows, lurking like dark prisons
Soldiers marched through streets, gripping their separate guns
They shoot when they see fit, when they see the enemy
How do we know he’s an enemy? Well, he’s from a different country
And their blood stains the pavement; the clouds roll black in the skies
The fires of bombs illuminate the cities like swarms of fireflies
And from this picture I hold, it all looks black and white
But you and I both know this happened in perfect colour
People lived and died through it, the horror and the bloodshed
The terror of concentration camps, and blackouts every night

Just because it’s finished, and more than half a century has passed
Just because they rebuilt everything, and buried the dead bodies
Just because it’s now black and white, a history subject at school
It does not mean it didn’t happen to real people in real places
And while we divert our eyes and try to forget
Let’s just take a minute to remember.

So ugly
But it doesn't even bug me

My hair is dated, my clothes are faded
But this photo of me is my favorite

Crooked teeth, eyes begging for sleep
All the things that make this picture complete

My smile is bright
But you should've seen what was glowing in front of me

This is the photo I wasn't even looking
Because I couldn't take my eyes off of the person who took it