I found this poem I had to write for english class last year, and I thought it was sort of nice. Here it is.
Age sixteen.
Barely an adult, still acts like a child.
Guitar strings, radios, sheets of music,
just a touch of what I am.
Pajama pants, hoodies and socks,
my usual weekend attire.
A non-stop job
on the move all the time,
trying to keep up
with my nephew running down the hall.
Almost two, the love of my life,
yet the biggest burden of staying home on a Saturday night.
My camera is my favorite
piece of technology, a window to
a world that offers no criticism,
no lies, no problems.
Shy and quiet,
but loud and obnoxious
only when I need to be.
This is what I am
barely an adult at
age sixteen.
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