I am eighteen—yet no adult,

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 I am eighteen—yet no adult,
Aren’t they supposed to be responsible?
Kind, composed, steady hands that build?
Then what am I doing?

Skipping classes, dodging exams,
Eleventh-grade syllabus complete.
Yet the lectures sit untouched,
Questions unanswered.
Only four months remain.

I feel left behind,
Like a small child crying quietly,
Choking on his own inabilities—
Drenched in envy, craving something more.

Lost and blind, hiding from sight,
Isolated, a shadow in my own home.
Not even family truly knows me,
And friends feel like strangers.
Only I remain—
Alone with dusty books,
Whispers of dreams that never speak back.
A.V

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