i’m 17

and there's a picture above my father's desk of
a little girl
on his back, giddy
with joy
and smiling ear to ear 

I'm 17
and this is when I start to wonder
Where all the time went
When leisurely mid-afternoon walks
Catching cottonwood seeds like 
Fairies
Turned into hours
Cloistered indoors
And growing became something
Ugly

I'm 17
And people tell me
"You don't need to have it all figured out"
But then they look at me like I do
Tell me, what am I supposed to do if
I feel as though I need to measure up 
To your definition of what it means
To be me
I’m only 17 

I’m 17
And my grandpa calls me, saying
“I want you to be a doctor”
My mother orders me around the house
And tells me to clean my cluttered room
My father, says
“Be whatever you want to be”
But how can I know what that is
If I’m only 17?

I’m 17
And everything seems harder than it was
When I was eleven
Anxiety– once a stranger
Becomes a long-time friend
And everyone else starts to leave
I stare at the books on my shelf
Opening each one
Trying so hard to turn a new page
But the wind inevitably blows me back
To the previous chapter
I’m 17, 
And I’ve lost the sound of laughter.


I’ve forgotten about happiness
I’ve forgotten about peace 
And I’ve forgotten I’m still a child
Inside 
I’m 17 and I’m afraid to die. 

I’m afraid of losing love
I’m afraid of losing myself
I’m afraid of struggling
And not being able to ask for help

I’m afraid of being vulnerable
I’m afraid of moving forward
I’m afraid of being 
A terrible sister and horrible daughter

I’m afraid of everything
I’m afraid of the real world
But most importantly
I’m afraid of disappointing 
That little girl.

I’m 17 and I believe that I’m weak
But in reality I’m much stronger than
I think.