At seventeen I am almost grown.
Almost old enough to own a home of my own.
Yet, i remain viewed as young, naive.
Told I am too young to know what i believe.
At seventeen the world drowns me in a sea of questions it doesn't want the answers to.
At seventeen everyone thinks they know whats best for me,
"....grow up, be a part of your society."
Don't worry about happiness that's a selfish priority.
"...grow up."
But at seventeen its hard to differentiate between hopes and reality.
It's sad you can do anything you believe,
but i fear it's a lie, we've all been teased.
The proof?
On the streets.
An endless stream of people who've had their dreams seized.
I dread the thought of this stream consuming me.
Me?
Me?
At seventeen I don't know if I am me.
Or just everything that's ever been crammed down my throat into a part of my brain I cant pronounce.
At seventeen I've fallen down a rabbit hole.
The queen of hearts pounding me with every cliche ideal every adult has told me to believe.
The white rabbit screaming to me the time.
17..18..19
I just want to leave.
I am only seventeen.
But if not this rabbit hole where?
Just a new nightmare?
Filled with symbolism I should get.
Things I should know.
Seventeen is plenty of time to grow...
grow up.
But I am only seventeen.
I am only seventeen.
Am only seventeen.
Only seventeen.
Seventeen.
I am seventeen.
At seventeen the world says I am almost grown.
At seventeen I am scared to have a home of my own.
At seventeen I question everything I ever knew.
But remain unchanged.
Remain floating through life without a clue.

Seventeen men standing on a shaft

Of grey sunlight

Seventeen men waiting for a draft

Of black and white



Seventeen men all proud and blind

For the victory

Seventeen men all loony in their mind

Oh contradictory



Seventeen men fervent on a march

To their slow doom

Seventeen men die, drop, and parch

Not enough room



Seventeen men are abandoned prostrate

On the battlefield

Seventeen men become slaves to their state

All their hearts are sealed



Seventeen men praised above the ground

Lie breathlessly beneath

Seventeen men glorified by the pound

Their graves, their souls bequeath



Seventeen men were in love with an idea and went to war

Seventeen men died for a border and fought for a *****

We rushed on glorious wings
that fed bombs into Baghdad soil
with feverous lust for a hollow dream.
Now nine long years later,
seventeen bodies lie on earth where oil
engenders a lust that’s even greater.

Seventeen skeletons innocent;
Seventeen bloodlines’ descent.
Karzai’s blank solace and Kandahar’s dead
seventeen lay heavier on the heart than lead.

Three tours were far too many,
the fourth far more than he could take.
A sergeant who’d have given any-
thing for his wife and kids’ sake.
Seeing a good friend’s severe injury –
the last blow Sanity could handle.
Morality goes out – light from a candle
swaddled in smoke’s endless perjury.

Seventeen seconds of forethought
may perhaps have faltered his shot;
Seventeen centuries of ponder
and still the heart may have not grown fonder.
Seventeen lovers left alone,
or loves that’ll never come to pass,
seventeen graves of heavy bones
mark where a madman’s mind broke at last.

Seventeen skeletons innocent;
Seventeen bloodlines’ descent.
Karzai’s blank solace and Kandahar’s dead
seventeen lay heavier on the heart than lead.

This is Seventeen.
Seventeen is loosely in the beginning of my life. Seventeen is realizing you’ve got a whole lot of life left in front of you. It is accepting that life is a page of writing that has been started, but is nowhere near finished, that a few doors have closed, but many more are still open, that some choices are irrevocable, but some may be changed yet, that there are still many what ifs that need to be figured out.
Seventeen is being caught in the limbo of being seen as an incompetent child and being forced to make adult decisions.
Seventeen is having the freedom to drive anywhere, but having a curfew to stay within.
Seventeen is losing many of the friends you used to have, but keeping the ones who are the closest to you, the ones who understand you the best, the ones you hope to have forever.
Seventeen is being able to stay up late, eating pizza in the park, and play on a playscape trying to be kids for just a little longer.
Seventeen is year long concert series and jamming out to your favorite bands covered in sweat.
Seventeen is dying your hair bright colors, much to your mother’s disparagement, and then changing it a week later.
Seventeen is being forced to choose what you want to do with the rest of your life when your favorite food changes on a daily basis and you have no idea how to function without your mom nagging you.
Seventeen is being excited, scared, sad, angry, hopeful, happy, jealous all at once and trying to deal with it, while still completing your homework on time.

I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.

There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.

Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same

Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility

Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality

But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.

17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.

17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.

But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.

seventeen
it was fun
till it wasn't

seventeen
haunts me

seventeen
hates me

seventeen
isn't real

seventeen
was ugly

seventeen
don't leave

seventeen
I never want to see you again

seventeen
I'll do it all again

seventeen
you're the worst

seventeen
I love you