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Not smiling at smiling me from the DMV. Not watching an R without all of the PG. Not even checking the squares of democracy.  
I am from many places And attached to few I’ve seen many cities and schools And buildings and parks and hospitals And I haven’t even left Florida   From those places, come many sounds
i am about to be eighteen. eighteen.
A light that beckons from a lamp. The yearning of our innocence, the drawing to our roots. It beckons you forth from the dark, it promises light and warmth. It is only there.
Not so little soldier boyOff to do what's right Thirteen weeks to make or breakHe then goes on to fight
Laying in the trench, Thinking about life back home, Waiting for the end, Eighteen and scared for his life, Is the war almost over?
Too young to make life decisions. Too old to depend on mom. Wandering on the uncertained journey of life independently.
When I was eighteen, I had my first anxiety attack. Alone. In my room. 11 PM Crying, gasping, my heart felt like it was going to die.
I'm just eighteen what do you want? I don't even have the time,  To listen to your frank demands  That sound like broken chimes.   I'm just eighteen what do you want? And, yes, I'm quite high strung!
Growing up ain't as fun as you think No one can prepare you for the Zits, quips, stink of uncertainty The fog that overtakes, blinds, defines you Picks you up and clouds your judgment,
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