Eighteen

Eighteen. I've been on this earth eighteen years. You might be wondering "what do you mean?" 

Eighteen. When the imagination dies, when the lone wolf cries. Am I ready? I will lose the age of generosity of kindness and enter an age full of blame, shame, and madness. 

Eighteen. I become accountable for every and all mistakes. Where do I go, how do I get there; will they ever give me a yes instead of a no.

Eighteen. The age I'm considered an adult. The age when you're given a box, in hopes you fill it with gold instead of rocks. 

Eighteen. Maybe adulthood isn't so scary. Maybe I'll be alright. Although a future for me isn't so bright. 

Eighteen. September 9th creeps closer. Days go bye and I can feel my innocence die. I don't know if I can win this fight. Life will soon be full of restless nights.

Eighteen. Will what I do matter when I turn eighty? Will I look back and wish I've done more. As if I swept my life out the door. 

Eighteen. It's creeping closer yet standing still. Soon I'll be responsible to pay the bills. I'm nearly screaming 

Eighteen. Days away. Should I stay? Should I go out now with a boom? To stay young forever, to be gone way too soon.

Eighteen. It's today. It came without delay. I'm an adult, I am not afraid to fight. Here I stand, my history and future in my hand; here's the reality the imagination dies, it's a cold world where everyone wishes and everyone lies.