eighteen

I'm eighteen years old, and sometimes it takes me awhile to figure out my lefts from my rights. I'm eighteen years old, and I still don't floss my teeth sometimes, even though I know it's more important than brushing.

Sometimes I pound my fists into my pillow and scream when I cry, and sometimes I do the wrong thing and have to deal with the consequences later. Sometimes my morals go out the window, and sometimes I wonder how I'm not becoming a better person no matter how hard I'm trying to change. Sometimes I cry when I really don't need to, and sometimes I don't when I do. Sometimes I kiss the wrong boys, and sometimes I take three hour naps in the middle of the day. Sometimes I feel so happy that I can't even remember what it feels like to be sad, and sometimes I feel so sad that I think I'll never be happy again.

I'm human. I'm passionate, and alive, and messy, and wild. I do stupid things, I say stupid things, I mess up time and time again.

I'm eighteen years old and I've learned so much. I'm eighteen years old and there's still so much to learn.