of age/ twenty/ two years.

of age/ twenty/ two years.

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.

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.

Thank you!

Balloons

Balloons

I imagine

before falling asleep

my worries,

my fears,

my anxieties

as balloons.

Shy pinks,

Bold turquoise,

Brave chartreuse,

Riveting red

balloons.

I imagine

being dragged along

by my worry balloons,

afraid of letting go

of the tense string that binds us,

digging my heels into the ground all the same,

because I don’t want to go

where my fears and insecurities would lead me.

I take a deep breath,

and one by one

let go of the balloons.

My college admissions results,

my jealousy of Jennifer,

my hurt feelings,

my grief for my grandmother,

more and more and more

balloons floating away across the sky.

I let them all go,

because I can’t afford to let them drag me

anymore,

and

because I’m tired of digging my heels in.

Good bye, Balloons.

I’m sure that I’ll see you all again,

and maybe gain even more tomorrow,

but for now,

Good bye Balloons.