publishing my poem had some profound effects
i learned that i never did tell a boy i loved him
i said it to myself so many times
it became real
i had many chances to speak
and never did
which is heartbreaking because i always did love him
and still do
i just never told him when it would matter most
i don't want another chance
to make it matter
it is far too messy for either of our lives to handle
i just would like him to know
that i wish i said
i love you
i love you
i always will
2 comments:
I hate sounding so trivial I hate knowing that I’m not going to be happy with what I write I hate knowing that I’ve built this up so much because I thought I could write something good, and now I’m going to hand in shit and everyone’s going to be disappointed I hate that I tell people that I write but it’s all a big load of crap because so is everything I write I hate looking at my words on a screen I hate looking at my lack of words I hate a blank screen I hate expectations I hate mine I hate yours I hate your talent I hate your patience I hate your faith I hate letting you down I hate me
I hate writing because I love it and I can’t do it I hate that I don’t love it and wish I did I hate that I feel like I have no personality because I can’t get any across on a page I hate that I can’t get any across in a conversation I hate inadequacy I hate pressure I hate fear I hate stress I hate you I hate you I hate you
I hate the poetry the ideal the what I know is in my head and won’t come out I hate wondering if it’s in my head or not I hate despair I hate my life I hate school I hate the system I hate not conforming I hate conforming I hate
I hate that I steal ideas are any my own I hate that my ideas sound so overdone I hate this
Despair is not something teachers understand I’m not going to get marks for lying in my bed all day and breathing heavy when I start to think about my life I’m not going to get a diploma for sleeping to escape everything I’m not going to pass because I don’t believe in chicken soup bullshit and I’d rather not write anything than write something that would make Jack Canfield proud I’m not going to get a letter of recommendation for sweating, for locking myself in my room and pretending I’m not here, for unplugging my phone and wishing I had someone to talk to, I’m not an honours student if I don’t shower or eat because I can’t make the effort, I’m not on the deans list for dying inside I fail die didn’t try goodbye
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