I am 16.
In the eyes of the adults around me, I am far too young to know anything about myself for sure.
In the eyes of those younger than me, I'm far too large, too reassured, overly confident in myself.
In the eyes of me, I'm 16 and fighting and learning and that's all I've ever been trying to say;
I know I'm naive and too knowledgable.
People like me are the first drop in the ocean,
The spark that sends dried forests into a blaze,
I know too well what rebellion tastes like beyound that of teenagers,
I'm 16 and the rebellion is swill like beer I shouldn't be so familar with but am.
I'm far to old to believe in fairytales, but young enough to believe I could be the protaganist.
I'm 16, and so was everyone else once, all these people you hail as revoultionary,
They've always had ideas too big for themselves.
They were drops of oceans and burning sparks once like me,
I have the potential to become what lives on in their names,
The newest generation of teenage rebels,
Who are more than what you condemn them to be as hooligans.
I am 16, and I'm still learning,
But I still know better.
