13 isn't the last number
Today I turned 14.
I’m hoping this year is better than my last.
And all the others in the past.
But I’m not writing this about myself.
I’m writing this, so others know it’s okay to need help.
13 was hard.
Honestly, I’m left here scarred.
13 was the age I was supposed to love.
But that’s the last thing I felt.
13 caused me pain.
It made me feel like I was going insane.
So many sleepless nights.
Listening to the voices in my head fight.
I felt anything but alright.
13 was full of emotions,
Just not the right ones.
I turned 13 and was suddenly old enough,
Old enough to know about the family drama.
No wonder so many have trauma.
When I was 13, I felt anything but the same.
But all the things I shouldn’t have done,
Attracted me like a moth to a flame.
I hope that one day,
A 13-year-old girl will read this.
Because I know she probably feels alone.
She hides in her own home.
Her eyes cold as stone.
But behind closed doors, in the darkness of her room.
She lets out all the tears,
From the words she has consumed.
I want her to know that she’s not alone.
She’s wanted and loved by someone.
13 may feel like a big number.
But it’s not the number of reasons you should have.
It’s not the last number,
I want her to remember that little girl.
The one still inside her soul.
That little girl has a goal.
I want her to make that little girl proud.
Keep on counting.
13 isn’t the last number.
It never should be.
13 may feel like hell.
You may feel unwell.
You may look at food and feel physically sick.
Or cry and ask, “Why am I like this?”
Just know you weren’t the first to do it.
And certainly won’t be the last.
One day, this number will pass.
Because 13 isn’t the last number.
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