Senior Year

I will be packing boxes like I always have,

but this time the road won't lead to another base.

It leads to a future I chose.

Senior year feels like standing on a front porch

that was never really mine,

but somehow, I grew up here anyway.

I’ve learned to make friends fast,

to smile even when the map says “start over,”

to carry home in my own two hands

because it was never just a place.

Now college waits like a brand-new assignment,

but for once, I’m not the new kid by default,

I’m the girl who’s built from everywhere,

stitched together by goodbyes.

And maybe that’s my superpower:

I know how to leave,

I know how to begin,

and I know how to grow roots

even if they’ve never stayed still.

So here’s to senior year,

the first time the next move feels like mine.

And here’s to the girl who’s finally choosing

where she’s going

instead of where she’s sent.