Eighteen

December 4, 2017

Eighteen - by Alina Peon

In one month I will be eighteen,

some may say it is good luck

that I will finally be a proper adult.

Well, eighteen quite sounds like bad luck

I get to be treated without the care

of a little baby child.

I fear that as soon as I blow the last candle,

(if candles still exist in the adult world)

the pretty pinky pleasant mattress in which I sleep

will be burst out by some old ghastly gal-

the opposite to our childhood fairy lady with a

sexy DC comic turn,

pardon me as I make myself familiar into more

adult world cliches.

I still turn around my head in bed,

and fear the absence of light in my sleep

but I quitted my search for closet monsters or

my dreams for dwelling knights that battled dragons

and chose to read a boring summer reading book instead.

Just because it sounds like what an adult would do,

choose to have no fun,

choose to have no fear,

choose to live a life and

leave childhood in the rear.

All I fear now, are the blank spaces in my Common App

the deadlines to college admissions

and the scores on my last ACT.

When did everything suddenly become so official,

so important and yet so grey?

When did I buy the ticket into the wonders of adult world?

In one month I will be eighteen,

and maybe all my troubles will be swept away

by realizing nothing has changed.

Or maybe not, and I get to rock a grey pantsuit and

sign with a huge law firm.

I guess I won’t know, until I blow that last candle in the cake

and choose to have fun

and choose to still fear.

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