This Is Being Nineteen
Four years ago
I found happiness
in a black and white photograph
with dust collected
and colourful tears stained on the back,
crinkled beneath
an old book I love.
But that was the last time
I ever saw it.
I am most hopeful during summertime.
That is when my heart burns brightest,
but the cold always rushes in
and dims my light again.
This is the fourth winter
that I will gracefully go insane.
But trust me,
the best people do.
This year I met death
but not in a way that you'd expect.
The ambiguity of that is intentional.
This year I fell in love five times.
The same person twice.
I followed my dreams
despite doubt and negativity.
I was electric in someone's arms
and I found pure fate in a man's eyes.
I finally tasted rejection on someone's lips
and I loved it.
This year
I shook hands with clarity
while confusion clawed at the backs of my ankles
begging for me to stay.
I was not always loyal.
But I was betrayed by people that I loved.
This year
January took my heart away.
April gave it back.
August broke me but put me back together.
October always seems to be meant for naivety
and December is ahead, full of possibility.
A new year never means a new me,
just a clean slate for new mistakes.
More highs, lows
midnight dances, tumble-weed moments
and sunsets I hope will never end.
I am always on the search for something more.
I am never afraid to love someone
who may not reflect back the feeling.
I believe in passion
and the way it roars in my heart at night.
I will never apologize
for always being exactly who I am.
I place the most pity on the people
who are everything but themselves
for they are cheating the world
out of true originality.
This is what I advise you.
Do not let the shadow of fear
that stands over your shoulder
darken your dreams.
On nights like these
when you can feel failure
like broken bones inside you
remember how beautiful it is
to feel anything at all.
When you feel doubt
breathing down your neck
quietly whisper to him
that in your spine
there rests success
and the coldness and condescension
of his breath
doesn't scare you.
Tell him
nothing scares you.
This year
and for the rest that remain,
I just want you to know
that you can
never
always win.
But I think
that's the beauty
of it all.
poem by Vanessa Grixti
Added by Poetry Lover
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