I was looking out my car window the other day.
I saw many things, good and bad and thought
"I'm just a kid. I still have time to grow up so why doesn't anyone let me be a kid when I am one?"
I've written hundreds, possibly thousands of poems about my life and dreams but
its all getting less and less important or at least meaningful.
What's happened to Enya Nolan?
She was once so happy, hopeful.
What happened?
What made me make such a drastic change?
Not even a change I wanted.
How did I become so cold?

I've always been a problem child but I was okay with it because I was okay with who I was.
That was a long time ago...
Can I never change back?
Is there no hope for the damned kid in the small house with a small room with a small space to live and grow?
I feel like I've lived for hundred of years...
I even already have wrinkles.

So when did I change?
When I was molested?
when I was beaten?
when I was addicted?
when I was mutilated?
when I was sacred?....

Oh how I've become such an endless nightmare...

I've closed myself off but wish I could get out.
I wish I would find someone who I could open up to.
I've turned my life into a waiting game.
I wait....and wait...and wait...
for a sign, a god, a hope, a beautiful flaw.

Even if I found god I wouldn't be satisfied
I'd have so many questions and know the answers would be a lie.

I'm not a rebel at all.
All I do is sit at home, alone
paint, write or sketch.

This poem probably no one will like.

If I told my parents or my friends.
They wouldn't believe me.
no one ever does.

Because I'm just a kid
what do I know right?
I'm just a kid who knows too much and wish...oh how I wish.....it would all just go away....