I'm tired of people telling me who I am. What I'm capable of. What I should think. What my priorities should be.

Just let me live, make mistakes, fall, and realize that yeah, I fucked up.

Because that's life. And I do understand that. I can't help that I'm sixteen. What am I supposed to do, get in a time machine and fast forward till I'm an adult?

I'm emotional. I cry when I'm angry. I say shit I don't mean. I forget things. I've dated douche bags because they're cute.

So have a lot of people.

I shouldn't be expected to grow up in a year, because I have to apply to college soon.

I'm working my ass off, and I realize that I make mistakes, I'm pretty sure I make them every day. But I'm trying to learn from them as much as I make them.

And maybe I don't understand everything. Like paying my own bills, or having a kid, but who the hell understands any of that at my age?

So excuse me if I still forget to take an umbrella, or if I can't handle babysitting kids because I have no patience, or if I still procrastinate for everything I need to do. Excuse me if I get pissed and blast Eminem in my room.

Excuse me if I don't want to go to some party full of adults I don't know and hear them talk about mortgages and taxes.

Excuse me if I waste my money on bacon egg and cheeses and butter bagels and didn't save it for my college tuition. Excuse me if I don't want to talk about what colleges I visited, and their pros and cons with every adult everywhere I go. I have a whole class for that in school, so shut the hell up and let me breathe.

Let me be a teenager jeez.

Just talk about me in the third person. Just assume I don't understand anything. That I'm selfish. Immature. Apathetic.

What do I care anyway? I don't get it. I don't care about anyone but myself. I'm a teenager, it's expected. I'm just like every other teenager there is.

Rude, disrespectful.

A follower.

My priorities are all screwed up, right?

No, don't ask me how I feel. Just volunteer me. Because I have no say.

I mean, I'll just say something ignorant and self absorbed, might as well just disregard it.

Are We?

I wonder if I matter to you as much as you matter to me. If what we went through, all the firsts we had, the memories we made, are forgotten to you.

Because there are some days I wonder why we didn't work out, and if one day you and I will take on the world together, like we once did.

Because I'm hoping that I'm not the only one to miss what we had. And as I've fallen in and out love,and gotten my heart broken, it occurs to me that there wasn't anything really wrong with us.

Except for the time.

And if I remember correctly, we were best friends, and we told each other things no one else knew. You were the only person who could calm me down, because you were the one person who listened instead of criticizing me, and none of that has changed.

As I write this, and think about what happened in the end, I wonder if you and I are really done, for good.

Are we?

I'm hoping you changed, that you're not trying to fuck her over the way you're known to do. Because I see so much of me in her its insane. The way you are with her reminds me of us, before...

Maybe it's not my place, and I should just stay out of it, because I guess I'm no longer relevant right? I mean, there hasn't been in an us in how long?

I just don't want you to hurt her, because she cares about you. Like I used to. Do you remember that? Because it's just a distant memory for me, not something that's nonexistent.

Maybe you don't see it, and I was the only one who cared. I thought you were one of my best friends, told you everything, and swore you felt the same. But maybe I was wrong to assume.

I should just stay out of it, right? As you tell her all the lies you told me? As you pretend to give a shit about her, and feed her what you think she wants to hear?

Dammit, I know you so well it's ridiculous, so I don't understand why you feel the need to lie to me, like I'm everyone else.

But then again, to you, maybe I am.

To me, it's crazy, how much I've grown. Reading my words is proof of that. All the times remember crying over douches, having regrets, desperately trying to understand the misunderstood, it makes me see how mature I've become, and all of the things I have been through. My words are raw and vulnerable, and sometimes they make me cringe as I go back to that split second of pain, but I still read it. I still relive those moments where I sought solace in my pen and paper, in the wordss that poured out of me uncontrollably, as I tried to understand my emotions, my thoughts,

my life.

And I can't help but smile. At reminiscing over the first time i fell in love, or my unnecessary rants, over all the stupid shit people have tried to pull.

It makes me wonder, what I'll think or feel nostalgic about as I get older.