Candles

In the room their lay 17 candles,
In my hand I hold one,
It is new and untouched and I wait for the clock to strike 1,
Just an hour after midnight.
17 candles stand tall and lit in the room as I place the newest one,
I take a breath before I lighting it up with a kiss,
My candles drip down slowly, showing all the tears I have cried in my time.
Breathing slowly as my newest candle begins to drip.
Slowly and painful, yet sweet.
My collection of candles grow once a year.
They never seem to end,
They just grow...grow with me.
I am no longer a child.
Yet I am still not an adult.
My candles are small but yet big,
They tell my life and I am okay with it,
As long as no one besides me blows them out.