Being Seventeen

A favourite song Just Breathe by Anna Nalick goes: ‘..And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd,
Coz these words are my diary screaming out loud,
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to’
I tend to feel the same way every time I write and a word is torn apart from me, vulnerable enough to be read by other eyes. I am not a great author, having nothing to my name but to me, whatever I write is precious beyond words. It is inexplicable. I feel soaked and drained from within tonight hence the following poem, despite my heart’s desire to keep it hidden in the safety of the drawer in my bedroom that holds all my dearest possessions:
What was my seventeen?
A passionate ride through gentle ups and downs
An undercurrent beckoned from beyond this world
I quietly, almost thankfully slew
The part of me that held me back
Dislodged those slices of life
Which no longer made any sense
And buried them in a real coffin

What was my seventeen?
Oh lord, it was beautiful
Feeling the screaming voices inside me
That led me down a still vacant heart
But then taught me to be young
To be a free bird, to make mistakes
And lay my feeling soul out on display

What was my seventeen?
An intricately woven fabric of denial
Betrayal of a heart
And breaking down to accept love in its ugliest form
Then slowly falling out of it, into an abyss
And realizing its imperfections if only to discover
That love is the sweetest treasure I still wish to seek

What was my seventeen?
The poignant realization that life is short, short
Every breath too long to take
Every tale too precious to relate
Every secret I now keep
Has an overwhelming, breathtaking capacity
And a helpless, almost urgent need
To stay deep, dark, pretty


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