17
What a weird age to stumble upon
Neither adult-like or child-like
An interim within the interim of teenagehood
Clinging to the remnants left of our innocence
Nearing the edge of a chapter that risks all yet shows nothing in return
A static feeling that threatens to paralyze fills the soul
Enthusiasm for the future flits around restless as a butterfly escaping from its cocoon
Yet, the shadows from that very cocoon pose scary questions about the future
These conflicting emotions fight to flee like the magma from an active volcano.
One day my concerns lie with what’s for lunch
The next day it lies in what I’m supposed to do for the rest of my life
Wishing to possess the foresight, my thoughts fling back and forth frustratedly
In the company of my friends, the voices all seem to quiet down
Feeling the time pass and being in the same position, my body relaxes
Once they leave, melancholy washes through me
And the thoughts replay like a broken record
An exhausted melody of uncertainty, bated excitement, and nostalgia
Acceptance
A feeling humans seek to validate themselves with constantly
Acceptance of themselves, someone else, or something
Maybe that journey of acceptance never ends
But, despite all my worries and struggles acceptance has started to set in
Not complete acceptance, but slight acknowledgment
I repeat the mantra in my head time and time again
“I’ve done it before, I can do it again”
Whether this statement is a form of gaslighting or tricks my mind
I decide to coast life with that jacket around my neck
It is neither suffocating nor too comfortable
It simply performs its job
A simple need that I desperately search to be
I want to be that missing puzzle piece that fits in
But, not at the cost of my happiness or passions
Although often than not, I’m the one who limits myself
The ball lies in my court, yet I’m the one who’s too scared to try to lift it up
Or angrily I toss it at the wall and let it ricochet back into myself
Other times, it goes straight through the net too, but it’s easier to focus on the countless missed shots than the ones that go through.
The ghosts of those countless past versions visit me
They comfort me, they hurt me, they make me stronger, and they build the current me
Ugly and pretty, guilty and free, honest and dishonest, arrogant and insecure
All those 17 years of me were truly me
1 Comment
TG
Yo sup Juhi nice poem. TBH I’ve been feeling the same since I was 12 lol. Hope it stays that way and age is just a number,
October 8, 2024 at 10:01 am