I shed sweet sixteen
like I slide off last night's dress.
Thanks for the great time,
but you didn't give me
all I wanted
from you.
I leave my year
on the floor,
separated from dignity,
discarded.
Don't worry, I took
lots of pictures.
I get closer and closer
to the dawn of adulthood,
and I will never wear
this dress again.
It will remain on the floor
for a little while,
until memories erode,
raw and painful.
I pack it up into
the closet.
Sweet sixteen has dissolved and
seventeen tastes sour.
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