Maybe it’s 17, and you’re running down the road at 2 am, hoping that the boy you love is running towards you too. Maybe you’re 10 and you live in the tropics and the humidity sits on your skin, making the sweat dance on the back of your neck. You know you still remember what Christmas felt like when you were 9. The moonlight would illuminate the whole house, and you’d smell the pine filling every crevice in that one story, absolutely perfect home. Or you’re 12 and you’re being driven down a highway in China and the size of the highway shakes you just a little. It’s being 13 and riding on a vespa with a boy with sea foam eyes and hair that’s seen too much of the sun. It’s 3 in the morning and you’re in mexico and racing out on the rocks, deeper in to the ocean. It’s a hazy night with a stranger sipping on your brandy alexander that has just a little too much brandy. Maybe you’re 4 months short of 18 and you’re sitting on your bedroom floor writing letters to a boy who broke your heart last Christmas. 14 was breaking your arm, and still feeling the way the breath, got knocked out of you for the rest of October. 14 was also Bacardi Breezers on the corner with your best friend. It could have been when you were 15, lying on the kitchen floor barley able to breath because the people you loved made you feel defeated. It could be 18 and you’re sitting in the car park of i-hop and the boy you will always love takes your breath away. Maybe it’s prom night and all you want to do is make the night last a little longer, the morning creeping up too quickly. It’s being 16 and breaking on to the track, just to take mile times in the dead of winter because you want to make the team in the spring. It’s becoming best friends with the girl in your world religions class your sophomore year. It could have been the way your body took the weight of boxing for 2 hours, sore and broken in the morning. Or it’s 1 am in Toronto and you’re 16 and a little drunk finding your way back to your brothers college apartment. It could have been when you cut your right knee at your grandmas house when you were 8. It could have been spring time on a dock with your chemistry partner a year later. Maybe it was realizing a true friend after you were away at college, 963 miles isn’t so bad. It’s being 19 and knowing exactly what you want. Or maybe it’s a Tuesday night your freshman year and all you want to do is go home.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741