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Austin Mizelle Dec 2018
In all honesty,
Seventeen syllables just
Can’t show all my love.
For her
Scared of the answer
And blind it with a bottle
To know what she thinks
I hold it and cuddle
The sour desperation of fear from her
And desire to know from me
She hides to pain to show
What I'm afraid of is me
newpoetica Dec 2018
17
people say I'm lucky to be seventeen.
because back then they were all young and lean.
people say at the ripe age of seventeen.
well they felt like they had everything.
all was good.
because things just should.
but do you remember being seventeen?
it feels like a movie scene.
we laugh, we cry.
sometimes we just want to die.
we want room to breathe.
but everybody wants to make us seethe.
it gets really tough.
so we try to act rough.
oh seventeen.
stop acting mature, stop being so keen.
seventeen.
i wrote this when i was sixteen and realized that the older we get, the more focused on the self we can become. i don't want to regret, i want to live and that's why i wrote this piece.
julianna Nov 2018
17
Is 17 too soon?
I don’t think I’m ready
I look nothing like her
Or what I thought.
Age complex... I feel weird turning 17 in 2 months. I don’t feel like I’m ready for it even though nothing will really change.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
We were once seventeen,
When everything is at its finest
With our first taste of champagne but
We prefer lemonade instead;
and our
Bodies with so many hormones,
o ****!
To learn we are naively in love;
with some boy who outwits you.
We play
Video games and eat too much.
The finest seventeen days were when we gave our fears a beating.
After two music festivals,
we would walk around the hills,
and then go to beach where we would talk in the cafes in the evenings.
At night,
we would be in her house with the windows open,
and the stars bright,
and after that we would say goodnight.

It'll all end in April.

We were once seventeen,
When everything was at is finest.
Inspired by Rimbaud’s poem Novel.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
The terraces and neglected cafes stays pretty, and even quiet.
The weight of day. The sunset sugar pills. Blue lamppost, a big blue.
Teasing ******* friend, mocking the boy with the piercing on this left face,
The lipstick was twice priced, yes so, A one, five and two with two makes ten.

The chit chat after more chat of short people, talk people, spokespeople
and Notpoeople. Strike twelve, now boredom. His huffing flu resolved itself
"Yessum," he tried saying. For whatever reason. Was a boyfriend of hers.

Indecisive of the next blow. With his little socks and socks of red and green
Put on orderly. Hopes to avoid his thickening, unforgiving secret. Still mixed clues.
A puzzle, a puzzle piece in the centre of question. Arises the attitude remedy.
His only skill is comedy.  A blaze morning sun rises now. Oh dear, not now.

Strolls about resembling exactly of kings. A King, he told himself to be like.
Waiting, waiting, in a hurry he's waiting to wait for the girl to come, presently.
In Proportions, he waits presently. So easy and a little hasty, here she comes -

Sugar on ice, not all but a slice delight, my precise precise. Having lunch,
Delicacy lemonade, in likeness, with a perfect meal with sauce on fries.
There's too much honey in his drink - Tender change, good meal they say.

                                                                          *  

They lost each other in April,  A signal of hurt was played in a collection of rue.

She was left with a blister, mostly solemn, absent and good.

The terraces and cafes remain pretty, and even quiet.
Life at Seventeen
eighteen
words
is
too
much
for
this
poem
so
cut
it
short
and
get
the
****
out.
Just having fun
Leviathan Andrew May 2018
My birthday approaches like a train
I am stuck on the tracks of time

Nothing comes with being seventeen

College applications pile like snow
An avalanche waiting to bury me

Nothing comes with being seventeen

Adulthood looms like dark clouds
Ready to pick me up into the storm

Nothing comes with being seventeen
I'm not ready
Oh - to be seventeen
And beautiful
And musical
With starry dreams!
To be naive
And full of hope
And never mope
And want to live!

And yet...

How too quickly
A dream can be crushed -
A strong voice shushed -
Left down and sickly.
How easily
A harsh decision
Can rock a vision
Into disbelief.

But still...

This is just a scene
We’re still in Act One -
Not close to done!
Page seventeen.
It’s too soon to see
The hero’s fate
We’ll have to wait
Until your Act Three.
Movies often use a three act structure to unfold a story (exposition, rising action, resolution).  I’ve always liked the notion of being the hero of your own life movie and the recognition that each person’s existence tells a story... and At 17 there is still a lot more plot to uncover even if the protagonist seems to be struggling.
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