Writing

What I wish adults would understand

is that teenagers are just trying to find their place

in this messed up world.

Mom, I'm not trying to be rude to the house guests.

Dad, I can't help my neurodivergence.

Legally I am an adult.

18 going on 19.

According to most,

I still am a teen.

According to most,

I don’t seem like 18.

According to me,

I don’t think I’m ready to be an adult.

I hold my secrets in the shape of stars,

constellation-clustered candy like flaming balls of gas.

Sometimes they have five points.

Sometimes six.

Always, they burn

in that space inside your head

I went to the LGBTQ+ youth center for the first time.

For a year 

I stared at the website, 

wanting nothing more than to go.

When I finally went, on a Wednesday,

I keep wondering if something is wrong with me,

Because I can’t seem to understand.

And I don’t want to be the person that only writes about crushes and drama,

I’m not shallow don’t worry.

Yet here I am,

always carry your keys between your middle and ring finger 

never have your wallet visible 

don't listen to music in public 

everyone's a stranger 

you're our child; don't scare us.