He was cheering for people I didn't know he was friends with. Did he cheer for me? He said hi
when I walked by, scholarly robes swishing over a pink dress. It was friendly I guess, I want to
think he's genuine but there's no way of proving it. Walking past a timeline of people from my
past each knowing a different version of me. They all stood there and clapped. Was it for me? I
don't know, but I like to think it was. These people helped build me and even more importantly
they encouraged me to build myself. So maybe he wasn't cheering for me or maybe he was,
either way I'm thankful for him teaching me I can be loved. It was an imperfect haze of paradise
but through it I learned to love myself. I'll always clap for him. Not because I'm weak and
heartbroken but because life's too short to hate those you once loved. Maybe I'll always care or
maybe I won't. Either way it's ok.
YOU ARE READING
13&18 and everything in between
شِعرFree verse poetry written from perspective of a high schooler freshman through senior year through all of the ups and downs of teenage years. Not fully edited so be nice lol
