Last poem written while 13

I just wrote this two minutes ago, it's the last poem I'll write while 13 (unless I write another tonight).

So strange to think,
tomorrow
I've aged another year
I'll never be this age again
I'll never play piano again
or write another poem
at thirteen,
a year of black moods
sad moods
harsh words
laughter
roaring laughter
tears,
a roller coaster year it was
of singing
theatre
poems
novels
friendships
broken
mended,
and music
always
music dear
more constant than the
sunlight.
And how I've changed--
no one knows
just how I've changed
inside.
So strange to think
of me at twelve
how different was I really?
How different will I be
in one year's time
writing my farewell poem?
Goodbye thirteen,
you've been a friend.
Fourteen's drawing close.
It looms and glitters
both at once
it holds surprises,
heart ache,
smiles,
beauty.
Sounds like thirteen,
I'd say.


Kelia