Candles

In the room their lay 17 candles, 
In my hand I hold one, 
It is new and untouched and I wait for the clock to strike 1, 
Just an hour after midnight. 
17 candles stand tall and lit in the room as I place the newest one, 
I take a breath before I lighting it up with a kiss, 
My candles drip down slowly, showing all the tears I have cried in my time. 
Breathing slowly as my newest candle begins to drip. 
Slowly and painful, yet sweet. 
My collection of candles grow once a year. 
They never seem to end, 
They just grow...grow with me. 
I am no longer a child. 
Yet I am still not an adult. 
My candles are small but yet big, 
They tell my life and I am okay with it, 
As long as no one besides me blows them out.