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.
[...] Read more
poem by Vanessa Grixti
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