17

Poem by Avery Parrott

another dumb thing about being 17
being seventeen feels drier than expected

less dancing queen, more broken social scene

not even a fraction of the thrill 

it was advertised to be

and everything i want 

is sitting ten months away from me 
so it’s safe to say

i do love you more than being seventeen

…i mean, i think i do

i know there’s a difference between loving someone

and just saying it because of compulsion

but i have trouble with telling the difference

every time i try to figure it out 

i’m interrupted by a smile

and an ending everyone can guess

because i look at you 

and hear words worth listening to

i look at you, and for a moment

all of these dumb feelings 

make sense somehow

and i don’t really mind seventeen 

so long as you’re here next to me