You're 17
and you've got finals to prepare for,
Late night coffee breaks and
dark circles weighing your eyes,
End sem projects
and hallway breakdowns
your SATs didn't go so well
maybe your ACT didn't either
but—
You're 17
and you've got college essays to write,
you write about your dog
then throw it in the trash;
Because the admissions officer doesn't care about your dog,
he's read dozens of essays about dogs, another one
isn't going to blow him away;
he wants to see something fresh—
but you don't have something fresh,
you have a dog, and you love him very much
and you're 17, so that seems enough.
nothing ever is
You're 17
and you've got to make memories,
because apparently, these are the best years of your life
and you're never going to be here again.
You're 17
and everything's wrong,
nothing is where it should be,
or how it should be
your clothes dont fit anymore,
your t-shirts are too tight,
your jeans cut off circulation;
when you stare in the mirror,
the reflection stares back at you—
a ghost,
an empty shell of a person that used to be
But you don't have time to worry about that;
You're 17,
You've got to pack for college
and say goodbye to your mum,
make a hundred promises about calling, coming back home in the holidays
even though you know,
and she knows too,
you're never coming back here again.
You're 17
and you haven't slept in days
surviving on the biggest cup of coffee known to man and,
the one banana you had 12 hours ago;
You're still grateful, really,
life has been very kind to you,
but sometimes, you're seventeen
and it's the last thing you want to be.
