i am about to be 
eighteen.

eighteen.

i remember when
i was only half
of that age.
life creeps up on
you fast,
doesnt it?
i think about
my future a lot
thinking about
what couldve 
been.
i dont want to
go to college.
i hate school-
i think.
im not really
sure if i do 
or not.
maybe me saying
that was an
easier way of 
saying that ill
never be able 
to go.
an easier excuse
as to why i dont
try harder.
its only august,
but at the 
rate that this
year is going,
ill be eighteen
in no time.
im not ready
to be an adult.
i dont want to
graduate.
i dont want to
be on my own.
well-physically,
im already 
alone mentally.
my future isnt
promised to be
a good one.
im not really 
sure i want 
to be famous
anymore.
i dont think 
i want to
publish my
poems anymore.
they suck,
every
single
one.
they all suck.
ill never be
anything.
she was right, 
they were all
right.
i shouldve listened
when i had the 
chance.
i shouldve-
listened.