Tomorrow I am sixteen
I will be a year older, a year wiser, they say
Supposedly, anyway...
I don't see how a feeble number defines that.
Unprepared, I am
For the pressure, the responsibility
Of being this tender age...
It is such an awful number.
When I was a lot younger
I wished and dreamed and prayed
For this momentous occasion...
Looking back I wish I hadn't.
Why must everything change?
Why am I suddenly older? Responsible?
Does a year really change that much?
Take me back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem