You're merely seventeen, you aren't in love,
you don't even know what love means-
but then...
neither do I,
and you may think I’m being ignorant
but I'm really just bitter to the taste and rough at the core.

My blood runs black, but my tears are sapphire.
My eyes are as glaring as the air in March.
Don't tell me my mind is powerless.
My soul is dense.
And though my heart is tattered and covered in scabs,
the wounds are more wise than your attempts of being an adult.

You may slush wine in a glass-
as tipsy as the seesaw on the playground from your childhood,
but you will never be able to see.

You can sing and dance that you're in love because you ****** the first girl that said she loved you,
but you shouldn't be so naive,
because it’s easier to be hurt if you are.

So you can wear your six inch heels
and prance around in your chiffon mini skirt and Chanel handbag,
but you will never be a grownup.

Seventeen,
with my whole life ahead of me.
Wondering what will I be?

I've lost some friends
a while back.
I close my eyes;
hear fading laughs.
It makes me long for the past.
I wish that I
could turn back time,
stop all that
which made me cry;
prevent all those hard goodbyes.
But I can't.
And that is that.
I must survive from where I'm at.

Seventeen,
a confused me.
Unsure of what I want to be.

So many choices
now to make.
I choose my path,
pray I won't break,
struggle on through my mistakes.
I try to do
most things right.
Early mornings,
later nights;
hanging on for dear life.

Seventeen,
ashamed of me.
So scared of what I'm gonna be.

Starting to think
of what life will bring:
a husband? kids?
a home? a dream?
Who will be there,
at my side,
through both the great
and horrid times?
For what and whom will I cry?
Will the friends
that I have now
survive the years
beyond somehow?

Seventeen,
barely me.
No need to fret of what I'll be.

I am young
and in my prime,
a thousand ways
to pass the time.
The days will come
and I will know
what is down
this winding road.
For now I'm
ignorant and naive
with my whole life
awaiting me.
No need to know everything.

Seventeen,
completely me.
For now I'm all I need to be.

I'm just waiting for the day when you finally say, "I love you."

And then I pause and finally watch you watching me.

Until I finally say, "I've loved you since I was seventeen years old, you fool, now kiss me."

It's not until you're nineteen, looking back that you see your mistakes.

But when you're seventeen and heart broken anything that can **** you makes you ease the pain. You're dancing with the devil but you love the way he plays with your hair while he's stabbing the knife into your back.

Your heart is on the floor shattered and nothing feels better than to silence his voice with another shot of hope, another shot of happiness.

You take one for being strong and another because you're not.

You're seventeen and sad with hopes that someday you can look at that boy and know you killed the demons he left you lying in the floor with.

And it's not until you're nineteen and mended that you realize you were childish. But you had to survive. And a fifth of ***** and 3 packs of cigarettes a day helps you survive in a world that is crashing down beside of you...

syllables to words to full on paragraphs -- paper,
entombed in equations
with a sense of finality.

I can do that --
find the limit of a function as it approaches zero,
run until my heart gives out,
recite until my tongue is sore.
I can do that.

Eager to prove, and even more to disprove
the innocence that swells in their presence
because I laugh
out
loud
when they say I'm a child.

Seventeen.
Too old to make a careless mistake
Too young to be considered for anything
Too inbetween to be categorized accurately

Seventeen.
Old enough to make my own decisions
Young enough to get away with it
Perfectly in the middle for the comfort of others,
and
             too much so for your own comfort.

I am buried far beneath everything and anything that is good.
Or that is how I feel at least.
I often wish I were the cat, or dog, or squirrel
they have so few worries, I envy them.
The list never decreases,
the rain never lets up.
In here, at least.
I am like an old empty house.
Cold, dank, dark, dusty.
Sometimes the sun shines through my windows.
But only at just the right time of day,
and even then it is usually cloudy.
It feels cloudy, anyway.
Even if you see the sun.
Not everyone does.

Woah,
its my seventeenth birthday
and all I can think is
tomorrow is yours