Ah, hell. Unlike Jenna-who's currently freaking out over all the stuff we have to do for school-and Cheska-who's got some "issues" she's dealing with right now, I've actually been very...calm. And collected. And content. Blame it on "Rent." But that's for another entry to come later today. This one...oh, yeah, it's another one. But this is the first...I guess you could say, happy poem that centers on me. Comments?
Within a glossy page,
Turned to the stretching horizons
Still to arrive on my step.
The soft sheen of a film
Unpolished and glowing
With the collection of truths.
Penned carefully, though unsurely
Fingers softly caressing the past.
Tufts of hair
Pressed against clarity;
Revelations moistened by a single tear.
A quiet testament to a decade
And then some...
Eighteen, on the edge.
One: tender innocence
Bundled in cloth.
Four: ready to speak out
Knowing only love, unexperienced yet.
Ten: verge of stability
Unbalanced, loyal still to innocence.
Fourteen: Initiated into adolescence;
Broken-hearted for the first time.
Abrupt loss of childhood
Fortifying a wall of strength.
Sixteen: Flush of womanhood
Naivety now giving way to truths,
Seventeen: Last echo of childhood
Passing though as a dream
Standing at the end of a path
Cleared by maturity,
Paved by acceptance
And guided by hope.
To become the woman always meant to arise;
To see life through eyes now both
Pained and blessed with knowledge;
To have the strength to withstand
Crushing disappointment, inevitable loss
And never give in to bitterness;
To know the love made for a
And the bliss ensuing.
Eighteen, I say: Young still
And still much to see and know.
Wouldst that life be kind-
Though I do not harbor much hope-
I shall live as I was meant;
No more, no less.
I'm turning eighteen in November and I've been trying to write this poem since I turned sixteen. It's been lurking in my mind, begging for words, so I'm glad I got it out. After all, "No day but today", right?