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.

Petals flew through the wind
among the overcrowded
morning sky.

Patches of clouds splashed
onto the canvas
that’s my sky.

A seemingly perfect picture
really broken pieces
of glass shards.