seventeen

today i am sixteen,

but in five days i turn seventeen

i lie on the bridge between my childhood,

and the promising future ahead of me.

as i held dearly onto my most beloved stuffed animal,

my mother used to hum old melodies,

her voice was husky and bruised, 

as she crooned those familiar blues.

my stuffed animals bask under an incandescent bulb,

their color turned to a stale cream,

their bodies lie tirelessly,

with eyes that masquerade gleam.

i used to have a stuffed animal sheep,

her name was Lulu,

she would hold me tenderly,

as i would clutch onto her endlessly.

i use to love the way the crafted wool brushed  

my frail skin,

a trail of warmth through the cold winter nights,

and as soft as the fading light.

but now lulu is older than i am,

with tattered and worn skin,

an expression that bleeds morose.

my childhood memories,

an innocent scene,

with ivory veins that paint a pale blue sky,

a flock of birds soaring aimlessly.

the earth smells of rich soil and freshly cut grass,

a herd of sheep nipping at the greenery,

and as the moment wanes,

my problems swirl and twirl, 

trickling down a porcelain sink,

as they race closer to the drain.