It seems to me that
No matter what words I choose
And countless stanzas I use
I feel no different than how I did yesterday.

I feel torn, confused, and lost
Like any other ******* teenager out there
So, I thought poems could ventilate my fears
And somehow halt my internal flowing tears

But I was wrong.

It seems to me that
No matter what topics I discuss
Everybody I talk to turns the other way
As if I've got nothing important at all to say.

A friend, a foe, a love, a hate
Why should I think my words are great?
If everybody I write about dissolves in the end
Does it even matter if I care for the poems I tend?

It seems to me that
No matter what words I choose
And countless stanzas I use
I cannot artistically express that I'm done with poetry.