Life is short they say,
Even when they’ve already had 50 years
And wasted my life 3 times over.
I know I’m bitter and sour
Like the last apple on the tree,
But
I’ve only been given 16 years.
I’ve only seen the leaves fall 16 times.
I’ve only whispered about kissing pretty girls
And only ever dreamed of travelling the world,
But I’m not too young
For the world to spit its bitter irony at me.
Like the missiles my mothers used to make,
It blows me to pieces
With a single minded clarity and carefully manicured nails,
Leaving my bones exposed
To the thirsty summer heat and the dry winter chill.
They scatter my thoughts,
Stealing my words
And widen holes still empty from my 15th summer,
Because I’m only 16
And my first love might as well been my first crush.
Just like my first romance might have been my first dance.
And at this time,
Everything feels like it’s out to get me,
The way you feel when the haunted house goes quiets
And the mirror stops lying.
So, tell me why I’m still sitting on this bus, hoping it will take me across the moon?