Being Eighteen
I feel so lost,
Like a soup can
That has misplaced its label.
I want to be the wild child
In a Cohen poem,
Holding her hair back
To light a cigarette on the gas range.
But where is Leonard?
Without him,
eighteen feels childish,
Silly.
It doesn't fit me well at all.
Copyright © Lisa Barton | Year Posted 2008
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