Before Her 18th Year Poem by jazmine jones

In all my dispair,
they still want me to spare.
a life no longer being lived.
a young life that has withered,
before its 17th year.
but yet, they still want me to be silent, they seem to really hate me, as far as i can see.
and still no matter how much i smile,
i'm dying on the inside all the while.
but they are all blind, and dont't
see death happening right in front
of them, now i'm am quit. and
they seem happy. now that im sitting here with my backs turned,
with my mind burned.
burning from the hotness
of tears that have stained
my eyes for 9 years.
but still in all my dispair, they sitll
want me to spare,
a life no longer being lived.
a young life that had
withered before her 18th year