Eighteen

when you're eighteen,
you rule the world
you drink, you dance
you have your hellos and goodbyes
you make believe
as if 18's been long, and you deserve to dream
but you do, you, and you--
and i know i do

when you're eighteen
you've weathered the storms
of childhood trauma and memory
you know the ground by the back of your hand
mattress, sandbox, pavement and marble
you have friends that stick and
friends that come and go
and friends like leeches once they're done

and friends that may be more than friends.

you know pain, through joy,
relief, through suffering,
you know what's right, and what shouldn't have been
you may've seen things you shouldn't have seen
but you know what you want
you know you can rebel
little devil

by the time you're eighteen
you can speak, read and write
you can draw, colour and type
you may or may not take well to spice
or coffee or tea
or alcohol, like me
but by the time you're eighteen
you are allowed to dream
about everything you've wanted and will want
you take your pick
you pick your path
you pave your way
(like you always have
all along, anyway)

when you're eighteen, you're still you
no sweat no fret
you bet