Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen.

The year of fancies, they say.

The time in life when the night is still young and

the craving of thrill, triumph and connection

gets insatiable every day.

May I make more mistakes,

Learn from them, or if I stumble again,

Remember to diligently save them in my stash

For stories to be lovingly narrated and laughed over

 When wrinkles shroud my being.

May this year be the one

In which I shred and burn every layer of comfort

And plunge into unfamiliar territory

And find comfort in being a novice,

While changing, pushing and expanding

My definition.

Scribble, overwrite, erase 

But make every scribble, every verse as imperfect,

Mine and only mine.

May this year be the one

 To heal many wounds still open,

To answer many troubling questions,

And come to terms with the

Overwhelming reality that I am.

May this year be the one

In which I learn to love myself deeply,

Passionately, through every fiber of my being,

And crack open every mould, mask, layer,

That forced the vast stretches of the Universe,

Untouched by my light, make do with shadow.

May this year be one where I learn

To breathe, to exist,

To relish the moment and know, every second,

That I have never been older

And will never be this young again.