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.