At eighteen

At eighteen I was ready to give up my life,
for whatever I wanted.
At eighteen life is least of your concern.
At eighteen there is a lot of madness
and no patience.
The hunger of flight gnaws at you,
demanding you to jump;
to fall and grow wings on the way.
At eighteen you’re raw
and malleable.
At forty you have regrets.

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2 comments

  1. lightxlita · ·

    I’m standing at 18, trying to look past the flurry frenzy, hoping to have no regrets. I relate to this on many different levels. Thank you for this – I needed it (so I would I know I wasn’t losing my own mind).

  2. Rimsha A. · ·

    You’re welcome. I’m so glad you could relate. (I think regrets are inevitable, but there’s a time for it), at 18 however, there are no rules 🙂

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