Special

I should be allowed to act my age.
Eighteen.
Did you see that? Everybody got that? Eighteen. I'm petty and self-conscious and arrogant. I fish for compliments. I get into fights. I try to be agreeable, I clean well. I sing Disney songs and I have open-minded dreams for the future.
I'M EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD. NOT THIRTY. I AM ALLOWED TO WANT IRRESPONSIBLE THINGS.
GOT IT!? ALL OF YOU!?
I should also be allowed to cry when I am sad and throw things when I'm angry,
but I am not.
Self-expression is frowned upon, not only in this city, but the world.
When I do that, people look at me wrongly, I get into fights with my beloved,
I realize the other half is too busy to even answer me and that I shouldn't want her to anyway.
Fuck me right, SHE'S the one that gets to be young. HER.
Not me; I clean and cook. I sweep. I play iSketch with her girlfriend.
I am happy, hopelessly, entirely happy, when she sighs into my hair because she knows she is safe....
And HE'S the one who is responsible. Accordingly agreeable... legal. HE'S the one who tells the other half that now is not the time to stop, that I should have an opportunity for a spot-free future.
I feel under appreciated, I feel hopelessly inebriated by the fun I would have had, legal or no
and you know what?
I'm entitled to that. I'm allowed.... to be... eighteen... years old.
Now is the time to make stupid mistakes that I might regret later, that I'll shake my head over. I'm not saying REALLY stupid (pregnancies, that sort of thing)....
but I AM Chaotic Neutral.
I AM.
And I AM
EIGHTEEN
years old.

But that doesn't mean I should have to flim-flallow like this to satisfy both. Can't I have fun? Can't I feel safe?
Me, just me?

Sometimes,
I hate that I love both of you.

Eighteen.
One. Eight.

Even at eighteen, I shouldn't be crying when I write this....














......Eighteenth summer.....
No more bullies but new problems.
When both my heart-halves are hurting me,
and I realize I'm not worth the trouble to start with....
who do I talk to?

.....Who do I trust?