Eighteen
The hours tick by, snatching the strands of my hair
(Still blonde, but growing darker by the day)
The sigh of the shadows casts the sunbeam upon me
As I walk barefoot into the polluted bay.
How have I gotten here? Who am I today,
To call this body at the age of eighteen?
My fingers shake, but not of old age,
I am afraid of what more life would bring.
The days roll by, like the clouds over the sea
crashing down when they've gone too close to shore.
Oh, that I could just be one of the seagulls,
Nevermore would I cry, nevermore on the floor.
How have I gotten here? Who am I to run,
To run from this body at only eighteen?
My sapphire eyes are open, taking in the possibilities,
Ready for whatever this life may bring.
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