livid speckled splotches are
cluttering the skin on my back.
I am a lump of limbs dangling from the twist of my duvet
arms sprawled across the carpet, naked body pebbled like
the wobbly skin dangling from a turkey’s throat
cold and marred, waiting for the regret
that I had wasted the last 5 years
when they were supposed to be my prime.
I’m 18 in two months, give or take.
my time has often been spent in solitude
my head off somewhere no one could graze it
hating most things, particularly myself.
I don’t want to look back at my time as a hormonal mess with regret,
blaming the past me for not taking advantage of the ‘brilliance’
that was being a young body
I’m so scared I’ll be 25 wishing I was 15 again
because 15 was horrible
many people say that’s as good as it gets.
I know that’s not true.
happiness is a fleeting thing, but I’m not scared for it to leave.
that’s how things are supposed to be, inside your mind
and because i know that,
i can only breathe deep and push myself
to grow into something more than a lonely person waiting
for something spectacular.
About getting older.
Hope you like it.