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Poem

I feel my skin opening, like an oyster revealing its fragile pearl,
The sweet cocoon of sixteen years has cracked, releasing the sour butterflies of seventeen,
"Sour" seems the right word, the natural opposite of the sweet dream that has shattered,
I ponder this change as the February sunbeams seep into my soul,
Flooding my beating heart with their light, both warm and cold at the same time.
My hands tremble as I hold the quill that dances on the coarse paper,
Sometimes missing steps, as if searching for the rhythm of an unknown melody,
February sends its cold breeze to rustle the leaves and my tousled hair,
As I run through the meadow of childhood toward the realm of maturity that awaits me.
I run my hands through the river of realization that time never stops,
My reflection breathes fire into my lungs, igniting my heart with a new flame,
A flame that burns with the intensity of an age opening like an unwritten book,
And thus I find myself at seventeen, a fierce and untamed seventeen.
In this journey of transformation, my steps echo like sounds in an unknown land,
The butterflies freed from their cocoon dance among my thoughts like unspoken dreams,
And in every sunbeam that touches my skin, I feel the promise of a new beginning,
A beginning that floods my soul with the desire to embrace everything life means.

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