Of age, but not yet over.

I haven't written for a while, I meant to, I suppose,
Tie together the loose ends, who teather words like clothes,
It was not my intention, should I mention?
That I meant to write, honestly. About it all!
Birds, sea, sky, land, the lines which lie upon my hand.
About turning 18, not causing a scene, a life as boring as it seems.
All which now live upon a daze, memories distant,
Dance together in longing gaze, upon my eyelids,
They soon forget, I haven't done my assignment yet.