sixteen.

what is left to say?
things we share, things that fade.
how can i feel so done when it feels so right,
am i not willing to hope, to trust,
to lose everything when nothing's mine?








sick of the cycle but not willing to chance.
take a risk are the only words that fill my head.

struggling with the trivialist of things,
making me laugh, cry, feel,
i don't seem ready to take on the world today.

slowing it down,
taking my time,
trying to enjoy these moments.
i am sobered
by my failure,
by each morning,
when all i want is change.

all i desire is too high for me to achieve.
on my own isn't not good enough anymore.

set a tone, set a pace,
what makes a man
sing, love, hurt, hate?