I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.

Eighteen is the magic number

Defines maturity and responsibility

Perhaps it’s just a digit

6570 days of being alive

But don’t know what you are living for

Answers and claims are unreachable

Eighteen is a number of legality

But not a number of wisdom

Talk to someone who has lived more days

Life isn’t about digits and numbers

It’s about the choices we make

Every choice from the 6570 day is critical

You just don’t know it yet ….