I've been wanting to write some poetry for a while but there hasn't been a poetic thought in my head, so I seized the inspiration this morning while I had it. This is kind of two separate issues jumbled up into one slightly confusing poem? It's about being sad that Christmas doesn't feel the same anymore and the feeling of not knowing what I should do about a situation in my life that's stressing me out.

untitled

filled with grief for the girl i used to be

haunted by unfinished poems and hunger pangs

lost somewhere in september

can’t find the words to get out

everything i loved just widens the void

cold bites

hands hurt

hating and relishing the pain

i don’t know what i want but it’s not this

let me warm my hands on this cup of sorrow

don’t kiss me goodbye just yet

leave me to mourn all the things i didn’t know were gone

That's That

I stopped rhyming 'cuz it cooped me in a box.

and it didn't feel right to find a word like the last.

How left out do purple and orange feel 

to not have a rhyme like the rest?

in books and movies they think differences are cool and exotic

so why is it not that in real life?

everything different is weird and off

if it isn't like us it shouldn't be, or is below us

thats why I wish we weren't still fighting for all differences to be accepted

I don't like the fight for being proud of yourself

Because you should be

and people should accept it

and that's that

and they can't try and change you 

Those words that slip out so easily

For so many others;

I wonder how,

Because it's like pushing a boulder

Up a treacherous ravine

For me.

I wonder if everyone else is just stronger

And smarter and more adept

Than I could ever be.

I wonder if it's because they had a family 

Who told them all the tip and tricks;

Friends,

Who had older siblings to pass it down.

Teachers, parents and far-off relatives

And acquaintances who'd done it all already. 

I wonder if everyone else has webs of connections

That tie back to the ones who made this place,

Everyone but me. 

But I glance at them when I take a break;

They have no boulders, they walk flat planes 

They laugh and talk together with no need for breaks.

So I sit up here all alone,

Watching me and my boulder slowly sink down.

Undoing all my work

That no one here has at all.

Something bitter and frustrated and burning rises

But is countered by a steely frost within.

Why does my doing anything matter?

If it's all going to turn out like this why bother to try?

For a better future I'll never have?

To reach the summit that doesn't exist?

To enjoy myself slogging through this endless bog,

While others accumulate an ever expanding friends-list?

What is it all for?  

What could it all be for? 

Why? 

stuck together.

i like the idea of being stuck together;

look out, universe! it's us, your favorite

tv-show trio of certified friends

hurtling through space

and the time of our lives down the freeway

and no one has to think about what would happen

if we could choose someone else 

and i'm staring at the morning sun richocheting off your blond tangles & brunette fluff in the rearview and i'm thinking

is this really ephemeral?

could our friendship stand the ever-changing flow of the milky way

and high school?

you say you like me, us,

but if i moved to the moon would you call me back?

pick me out from another dimension?

maybe you have already chosen each other, 2's a party but maybe one day

3 is the lucky number & our future is an open road.

am i the only one who loves us?

our handshake, our ridiculously different styles,

the way i tell you everything?

i like the idea of being stuck together

because that way i don't have to know. 

but even more i like the idea of being stuck apart

staring out of car windows & at cell phones & at lucky stars until

we're in our very own freeway trolley or comet car

hurtling through space and the time of our lives

with no excuses, only

love;

stuck together

on purpose. 

I don't know what this is and I don't even like it all that much atm, but it does rather accurately portray my feelings right now.

~~ 

I wish I could fix it.

I wish I could make it all better, like a scraped knee and hydrogen peroxide + Neosporin + Band-Aids.

I wish I could fix it for everyone so I could fix it for you. Maybe I could unravel the knitwork of this life and start over, maybe

with different colors, and different needles, and different weights. Maybe this time I wouldn't take shortcuts:

instead of using the chunkiest heaviest yarn I could find I'd use the lightest, sheerest. The smallest needles:

maybe that way I'd less likely miss something this huge. Of course, this is only if I'm the one who actually pieced your lives together

(which I'm not)

out of multicolored threads wound together in thick skeins of itchy yarn, with giant metal needles that click-click-clicked every lightning stitch I took.

I still wish I could fix it.

I wish I could fix it like I'd fix a piece of Ikea furniture after skipping a step: undo everything and redo it until it's perfect.

But I can't, because your lives are not pieces of Ikea furniture or unfinished scarves or skinned knees.

But I can't, because I am not a goddess of knitting or building Ikea furniture or healing skinned knees.

But I can't, because I am just a girl in a world in which I write poetry and blast Taylor Swift and laugh and talk too loudly. 

~~

(I am in fact listening to Taylor Swift rn, though I'm not blasting it because I'm still at school. Though not in class of course; just afterschool) 

he is easy confidence

and quick smiles

side glances

and grins

light blue eyes

and sun

a causal conversation

messy handwriting

and basketballs swishing through a hoop.

I am quiet laughs

and shy smiles

steaming cups of tea

and bitten lips

fingers drumming on a table

and fields of flowers

stars spilling out of a night sky

and a worn book tucked lovingly into my bag

words held back

stolen glances

and big brown eyes that miss the obvious

but see the look in your eyes hidden by your grin.

chapter 453 of my neverending novel, my life- 

"in which i am perplexed"

what a strange word for a strange feeling and fingers,

flying fast on a miniscule keyboard when i'm not supposed to be on my phone

minecraft soundtracks still running through my head along with useless information

from science class

i am so impeccably good at immersing myself

i slip into the current and become the wave

whereas you swim frantically

do not try to sneak up behind me, i am everywhere

with wiki pages open and twitter constantly monitored

i must know everything

how to continue? the line breaks seem choppy on my too-bright screen,

school looming on the horizon along with the unblinking sun

i won't let it burn but there's no protection against the ultraviolet rays

another strange metaphor that doesn't really make sense 

but who said words had to be read?

i am too young

but i wish not for time to speed up but for it to fall,

move my birthday back a couple years

let me be 16 right now

let me be free right now

because the dreams in my head are impossible without age

time warp = reality?

the heater is broken just like my heart

both cold, unmoving as i lay like a log underneath too-thick blankets

i never wanted, but got anyways

death is a sequel & my math teacher lost her voice

she sounds like a goose, but then again, i probably sound like a duck

& i'm not one to be mean

words slip off my tongue like a lucid dream except i'm frozen

and can't write them down so they fall like snow to the molten rock of

reality, where they melt upon impact

what a plot twist