#17
The ceiling is the first thing I see.
No noise, just the realization that I'm..still here? I'm 17 and I've already built a world for myself, but in this house, that doesn't matter. I'm treated like a child who doesn't know any better, Stuck under the rules that ignore the person I actually am.
The sequence of expectations. Get to school, chores, make it another day. It's not the work that's hard-I can handle it-- It's just the numbing rhythm of it... It's the background noise to a life that feels like it's on repeat. I'm moving through motions in a house full of people I truly love, but I am completely, utterly alone.
I know what I need to do, The GED is out there like a door I'm supposed to walk through. I tell myself today is the day I'll start, Today is the day I'll make that move that changes everything. I have the goal, I have the vision, but when its time to act, I'm frozen.
The weekend hits and the silence is heavy, I should be reaching for that better life, but instead, I drown, I sink into the vivid, bright world in my head because in there, I'm actually living.
Out here, I'm just a sack of meat starring at the wall, watching my own time slip away while I stay perfectly still but Hey, there's a talent... Watching my life go by, wishing things could get better, setting approachable goals, but yet, I'm nothing but an open promise.
It's a specific kind of hurt-- being old enough to have goals and a past, but being forced into a role that feels too small. I'm stuck in the gap between the person I know I am and the version of me they see. It's a long, quiet ache, I am aware of the waste, and still. I do nothing.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 9:21 AM UTC
Our affection in question, you remain dismissive. Confidence drowns you with no words, no kissing. Clasping me. Your unspoken energy is staggering. Demanding of me, Abrading my fear, curating my thoughts back to us. A cluster of memories adrift, drafting clear thoughts. I’m unhappy, the downer, the anchor to our drifting, silent sea.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 2:13 PM UTC
At 17,
I remember the first moment—
it didn’t shine in the sky,
I didn’t feel its presence.
Was it a sweet curse?
I woke up with a pen in my hand
and a wild need
to write.
A first word?
A fragment of nonsense,
dressed in lies.
Years passed.
The girl I was has grown.
She’s no longer 17,
no longer holding an unknown pen.
Because now,
at 24—
with over 300 poems,
I have this feeling:
I am not just a poet.
I am me.
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 6:41 PM UTC
I hope today you can truly celebrate yourself
I'm so proud of how far you've come
And even though I don't agree
With a lot of your actions
I'm still happy that you've been able
To make yourself happier
We might not be together anymore
But I'll always have this fondness for you
So happy birthday to my first love
I hope everything plays out the way you want it to
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 3:00 AM UTC
When I was 2 years old.
I did not know true pain,
I did not know true fear.
My life was full of rainbows.
When I was 2 years old-
My innocence was my beauty.
Years went by;
I was now 8 years old.
I knew pain,
I knew fear
The rainbows in my life no longer there.
The rainbows replaced with storms;
Storms of violence, of pain and fear.
My perseverance was my beauty.
6 more years pass,
I was 14.
Full of pain.
Full of fear.
I was scared of life.
My beauty was gone.
Now 3 years later...
I still know pain,
I still know fear.
But things have changed.
The rainbows look down on me once again.
The pain - still there, but less prominent.
The fear, following me - but no longer dominant.
So, now at 17.
I live, I understand and I love.
When I was 2 years old my beauty was my-
Innocence.
When I was 8 years old my beauty was my-
Perseverance.
When I was 14 years old my beauty was gone.
My beauty no longer missing.
It is no longer hidden.
My beauty has arisen.
My beauty, now...
At 17 years old.
My beauty now is;
My 17 years of pain,
My 17 years of fear,
My 17 years of experiences,
My beauty is me.
I am my beauty.
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 1:02 AM UTC
Monsoon's panoply,
a dimpled day's
smile;
windstrewn
gulmohars,
a blushing brocade,
'plop'-ing droplets,
a lilting cadence;
nostalgia
pervading through
the silver-scented
puddles of a
paperboat's elation;
July evenings
and
trinkets of
yesterday...
.
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 10:15 AM UTC
When I met her I knew she was a sleepless night in the making.
She lays on a bed fit for mortals,
but the moon places a halo on her head as she sleeps.
I curse my eyes,
as acidic darkness clings to her skin
and eats at my ability to see her at peace.
Seventeen years of life
and I still have yet to realize:
that being a sucker for insomniacs is not good for me.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 9:24 AM UTC
The clock ticks
ticks
ticks
Pounds on the inside
Of my skull -
Need an aspirin
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 3:31 PM UTC
Oh today
today is my birthday!
there will be no balloons
no poppers or cake
just some time with those I love
something nobody can take
it's almost 6:00 AM
soon I'll get my alert
telling me that I should have a nice day
and maybe this time I'll listen
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 9:01 AM UTC
nobody knows what they want
not when they're 17
and not even when they're 40
people look for their best option
whatever is going to fill the void in their heart
at that moment
whether it be a job
a sport
a hobby
or a person
some people don't always choose correctly in the moment
it's hard to know what you want
to decide what's best
that's why so many people choose wrong
because
nobody knows what they want
not until
it's right in front of them
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC
She’s a Poem
He’s an Invisible Ink
She’s a Love Ballad
He’s a Vocal Less Echo
She’s a Soothing Lullaby
He’s a Muted Lyric
She's a Warm Breeze
He's a Whimpered Wind
She’s a Wished Rain
He’s a Thirst in Desert
She’s a Flying Dream
He’s a Falling Demon
She’s Nourishing on Pages
He's Dissolving into Ink
As if, Final Chapter of His Book in a Making?
She May Breathe Forever in His Silent Echoes...
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Seventeen
Is the age you are
You have my love
No matter how far
You are my friend
And that will never end
Our love doesn’t snap
It only bends
You’re talented and beautiful
And you’re just so cool
This poem has to end
For I am at school.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
Baby, I've always been writing.
But you made me a poet.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
People say don't think with your heart.
Well I don't, I think with my brain.
I have learned to isolate and manipulate.
To feel everything and to feel completely nothing.
It didn't take long to realize I was stuck in a deep deep hole.
I can't allow myself to love, even if I wanted to.
There is a huge wall I cant tear down.
One guy... can ruin your whole future.
My love life is gone without a trace.
My screams cannot be heard.
I can feel myself being numb.
I can feel the emptiness in my heart.
But I am not necessarily upset.
I am glad I wont let another male figure hurt me.
Cheers to my demons.
Adios to my once innocent soul.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
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.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
Your elegent voice
Soft and subtle
Can't be missed
In this chair
Looking at you
In that bed
Stay with me
Just another minute
We were 17
Chocolate for soldiers
Covers for tables
Flower for you
Glass Coca cola
Movie playing
Back of my Chevy
Staring at stars
Sky in your eyes
Going steady
Meeting your parents
No computers
Strongest connection
You're my password
Watching and waiting
Course of history
Making our own
We made plenty
Kids having kids
Years to decades
75 and still
Laying beside me
Gave a promise
We were 17
You accepted
Imperfect
But I kept it
Here's another
Sitting, this chair
You, that bed
Not our chair
Not our bed
Smell of Iodoform
And wilted flowers
Yet still
Your elegant whisper
Cant be missed
But I promise this
You will be
Never forgetting
We were 17
Just another minute
Ocean singing
Water and sand
Crashing, commanding
Standing Attention
Beside you,
Never close enough
Fly with me
Back home, before
The history
Rations for bravery
You for you
Proper pop
Screen dances
Frozen eyes
Only Star I see
See the beginning
Butterflies in sync
Inks drying
Pens and letters
Melt together
Moons and suns
Here and there
Decadence and
Debauchery
We did our
Own thing
Planting gardens
Self watering
In our chest
Of treasure
3 quarters
Of century
Gave me
That star
Not always bright
Never falling
Leaves now
To illuminate
Another planet
But I'll see it
Everytime I
Close my eyes
Remembering
We were 17
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Is 17 too soon?
I don’t think I’m ready
I look nothing like her
Or what I thought.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:28 PM UTC
I met a boy –
in the middle of the ocean, with no prenotions.
Eyes soft as the waves –
rocking us down our way, smooth sailing my way.
I knew it wouldn’t turn into something bigger –
than a summer crush, a summer fling.
We were just living in the moment –
living young, wild, and free.
Out on the Caribbean –
where the sun shines brighter than I’ve ever seen –
I shared a kiss under the stars,
with a stranger, only at 17.
Didn't matter how many stories we told
bout the lives we lived back on the shore,
We were just basking in our short-lived loving –
lost on the ocean, my storybook romance –
I’ll forget your name, I'm sure you’ll forget mine,
but I won’t forget your face or our time.
No strings attached is a little too extreme…
It was just innocent lovin’ on the seven seas.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
i blew out my candles
as i aged to 17
and now i'm on my knees
blowing out better things.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Body and flesh with the age of seventeen,
without being loud or angry.
Never been,
the warm yellow light.
Spiraling out of control.
Calmness collapses.
Burning a hole,
in what is assumed to be poured.
Deep pigment,
showering over loved once.
Yet no commitment.
Daffodils growing in the garden.
Dripping from the ankle,
deep red,
ropes to get strangled.
Melting and mixing orange.
They may not know how i’m feeling,
but if they stop reality,
they see me hanging from the sealing.
“How young was she?”
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Honestly,
I've exhausted "16".
So much has happened.
So much good, so much sorrow.
I've grown so much,
not in height,
but in strength and confidence.
Hopefully a bit wiser
and definitely more thankful.
Usually, I'm sad at this point,
but not this year.
I look back on this past year with a smile.
It was the best year yet,
so 17,
bring it on.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC