I am only seventeen,
And they're telling me these things
I will get sicker,
And I will get better.

I cry into my cereal,
Because a week ago,
I talked about the weather.

But now, I'm talking about plans,
They say there is no cure,
But at least it's not cancer.

As if, that will make me feel okay.
I cry for my could've been children,
And my could've been house.
And my could've been family.

My life has only begun, I am 17.
And already, something is wrong.
My babies will never happen,
I will never have my own family.

I'm a kid, acting as an adult.
Because I know, sooner or later,
I won't have the chance,
To do it again.
Written by Fallen_Angel_194 (FlowerChild)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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