Eighteen Years.

Counting to now

One is a lonely number, so it's said
Two fit together, and thus they are wed
Three form a chord and sing harmony
Four are the points of a compass at sea
Five are a nickel, and five more, a dime
Six are the lines I've just written in rhyme
Seven is lucky, good fortune befall
Eight isn't anything special at all
Nine is uneven, and by one is short
Ten is a base, of the numeral sort.
Eleven repeats itself, again and again
Twelve is a dozen, and hours for Big Ben
Thirteen is a number that doesn't bode well
Fourteen is another with nothing to tell
Fifteen is merely three times five
Sixteen is when you learn to drive
Seventeen makes no demands
Eighteen is when a boy becomes man

Well, I'm eighteen, nineteen in a month and a half.
This poem has eighteen lines, mainly because I felt it was dragging and was out of ideas, though.
Personally I don't think it's one of my best, but it desrves to be seen.
I've been hiding this away in hopes of improving it, but I think this is as good as it's gonna get.
I has a nice little rhyme and cadence to it, but no deeper meaning. :|
Lemme know your thoughts.
Changed my signoff name.
The flying monkey may return, but right now, this is how I feel.
~Yensil