19. Who would want to be that age?
19. It seems to old.
It's not a nice age, a certain age,
You can't just breeze into 19.
19. God, How odd.
Just a year to awkwardly be.
It's only acceptable if you're confidant,
If you know where you're going in life.
If it's your first year of collage
But for the rest of us it's agonizing.
A weired obtuse, that fits no where good.
I'm 18 and that's where I'd like to be.
I wasted the best year of my life with you.
And after we broke up
Spent the last half of this one rotting.
I did nothing with my 18.
18 Could be an age of broken deep love
And growing up and creating
Something breathtakingly beautiful
To the beat of never dying
And music pounding on a darkened dance floor,
But I failed to do that.
And now I'll be 19.
It's not perfect, pretty, like 18.
It's not the golden carefree 17.
It's not even a sweet 16.
How awkwardly odd.
The number makes me sick.
Not even completed by 20.
But one final step closer.
By then I'll be hurdled
Into the adult world.
No more young and innocent
And youthfully beautiful
That youth that still clings
It's perfection and hope.
Who will want me then?