I don't believe the effort it takes for me to do things. I wake up and clean myself, inside and out. I feed my hungry body and dress it in dry clothes. Then I drag myself to school, cold and bothered, to fill my brain with delicious education. I complement the teacher's shirt and make a point of speaking up when talking with my friends at lunch.
I don't understand why I do the things I do. or why it feels like I'm pulling a Mac truck behind me wherever I walk. Mum says it's genetics, grannie says it's my heart, doctors say it's stress and my dad says it's silly.
When it gets bad again I take a deep breath and cope. I paint, I read, I do my schoolwork. I cut, I punch myself, I tug out my hair.
Lately, I've been looking at spirituality and religion with morbid curiosity and slight jealousy. I wish, so badly, to have something to cling to, something to believe in. Though, if I thought we were all in the waiting room for something better, I would've left a long time ago.
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Author:
Salem (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: July 15th, 2024 15:29
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this in the 20 mins after waking up and it turned out kinda good. I hope someone relates and I don't sound too crazy or whiny.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 25
- Users favorite of this poem: Weep little lion girl
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Comments1
Not too crazy, not too whiny - By the time you hit mid twenties it will all be a distant memory. Hang in there - it may seem a long time, but it will go too fast. Good luck.
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