Teenage Hooligan: An Original Poetry Chapbook

2019's Battle

January 29th, 2020
16 Years Old

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I ask her what her New Year's will be like,
and she chuckles, clutching her stomach
like she was holding a child to her breast.
She explains it's the simplest one
that anyone could think of.
The most unoriginal.

To lose weight.

I look at her frame.
She's what most women wish to be,
what I wish to be.
And it's hard to look at someone so set in stone of changing themselves
when you think that they're beautiful.

But I just smile, nod,
agree that it's unoriginal in a joking tone.
She seems to smile,
but I can see her pain.
I can practically see the clock in her head,
calculating every half of a calorie in the wine she holds in her hand.

As she continues the conversation,
I can see her pale face clearer.
Her inner thoughts spill out
they're vinegar in a water bottle.
I know, although 30 minutes until midnight,
she has already started her resolution.

I love her,
and I love every wrinkle, freckle, scar of her body from when we were kids.
But she doesn't love herself.
She tells me she'd love to be a model.
I know she's just trying to fit the criteria of the growling public to become stronger.

I've been there.
I've been to the point to stand out,
to get the attention.
I swam out to the huge wave to see it crash
just to have it swallow and drown me.
Burn my lungs and throat
she does not deserve the same.

As she plays with the bracelet around her frail wrist,
she asks me what my resolution is.
I tell her it's simple, really.
To be more positive.

She laughs,
saying she wished she could think of something like that.

I smile, fluttering away.
And I wake up.

I see her, across my room.
Framed with handcrafted wood.
Her hand in mine,
and a smile plastering her thin face.

I take a deep breath,
letting out the sadness that formed in my bones within seconds,
something I've been practicing all year.

And I thank her for our friendship.
For the inside jokes.
For the love we shared in our short time, battling 2019 like it was our last year.

For the strength to continue on, without her.

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