I turned twenty recently,
in the past,
I would be “of age.”
No debutante, am I.
I don’t feel more adult than I did
a week ago,
but looking back, I know I am.
two years ago
this blog began as
a place to
vent my spleen,
show my poor, lacerated teenage heart
to an anonymous and unknown audience.
Unbeknownst to you readers, I am more adult now.
Two years ago,
or even a year ago,
I would agonize over text messages to boys who ultimately did not matter,
composing them scores of love and affection that could never be reasonably returned.
Now I agonize over emails to recruiters,
and currently I am more anxious about
gaining a job this summer and a lease for next fall
than my nonexistent lovers.
I loved the balloons,
they were perfect when I chose them at 17, when I turned 18, and still good
when flew into 19.
Brick wall, mountain to climb.
Window to jump through,
doors to lock.
Chances to take,
friends to make.
People to meet,
hands to shake,
hands to hold.
Felt abject terror,
love, grief, and compassion
after I turned 19.
Good bye 19.
I turned 20 recently.
Thank you for reading Poems by her.
Today is the two-year anniversary of its birth,
and I want to say thank you, whether you are a first time reader
or have followed me through the rollercoaster of absences and depression and pure joy and poems.