There's something about being almost eighteen
I don't know
Maybe it's how the wind blows on my hair
Or the color of my skin
Maybe it's the bounce in my step
Or the way my new jean hugs my figure
Maybe it's the fact that I'm out of high school
Maybe it's how everything feels different
Maybe it's how I got hurt last year by those I trusted the most
Or how I watched her die slowly
Maybe it's the gunshots and bodies I get to see daily
Or maybe it's just my mama's anxiety talking
Maybe it's the fear when I see the man who touched me as a young girl
Maybe it's the anger I feel at the man who handed me my first gun as a boy
Maybe it's my irritation when I hear people say I should have no problems
Maybe it's the fact that I'm still in love with the same person all the adults said wouldn't last
I don't know
Maybe it's the way my hands still shake and the way my eyes are always blood shot
Maybe it's my addiction to my escape
Maybe it's the way they say my grades will matter when I'm older
Maybe it's the way I have it different from these other rich kids
Maybe it's the way I see my rich friend with a new bruise each day
Maybe it's because I know one way or another, we're all fighting different parts of the same war
And we're struggling to survive
Tomorrow's my eighteenth birthday
So many things to decide
The gang wants to celebrate
But do I want a party really? I just want to walk a while
I'm having trouble trying to settle my thoughts
My bills are piling...