Diecisiete, Shíqí…

17.

17 is when I got promoted.

17 is when I got accepted in my dream school.

17 is when I got my license.

17 is when I had a relationship for five months.

17 is when I stopped talking to my mom for four months.

17 is when I stopped drinking and using substances.

17 is when I started drinking and using again moderately.

17 is when I learned how to utilize my self-defiance and love for myself.

17 is when I lost myself again.

17 is when I stopped crying from joy and sorrow.

17 is when I found myself again.

17 is when I finally cut my hair.

it was a continuation, the next layer of my own foundation that I created a year ago.

the nights still spent the same, more of them in the other city

christmas lights hung over my head, my eyes reflecting its luminance

some of it wrapped under my bed and around the souvenir shelf

swimming by mac miller playing on my phone before my eyes laid to rest,

the peaceful life I lost and regained, and now enjoy again.

it’ll be what I experience last before I become an adult.

it feels unreal. childhood’s hour glass is falling its last sand,

and teenage-hood have concluded. I initially felt I missed the defying experiences,

but my days of seventeen was the lifetime of experience that fulfilled them.

this year, I felt the equilibrium had two extremes from plague to paradise.

the first half, the augusto,

fueled with ego, sexualization, and having his closest souls fade from terror

the second half, the divine feminine,

returning to silence, genuine intimacy, and opening back to the souls again

and now, finding the balance between the two when my heart was in the crossfire.

I don’t have to speak on it again as I’ve done so many times,

but this year, love was still the resolution. love that is still considered progress.

thank you for believing in me.