A few more months and it’s all over,
I am so young, so sober.
Everyone around me dances and sings,
With alcohol in their systems,
Unaware of the danger it brings.
I looked around at my tidy room,
Everything had its own place; Even the tiny broom.
When did everything run by so quickly?
It seemed just like yesterday,
When my mother used to do things for me,
As I sat there, looking sickly.
An immature kid I was.
Running around like there was no such thing as danger.
Today I sit at a desk,
With pen and paper,
Writing this ridiculous poem,
About something that is yet to come.
3 more months; the countdown begins.
This is so nerve wrecking!
People say, “Age is just a number”
And to them I say, “Well, you couldn't get any dumber!”
3 more months, I will no longer be a teenager.
Oh well, let the mature shit begin.