writing these are dumb.

stupid even.

no one my age writes!
i feel so out of place.
alone,
drowning in my feelings almost.

i cant breathe.
being the odd one out
is already enough.
not this dumb nerdy trait too.

"she writes whenever she feels"

"uh oh! be careful she might write about you"

so what?
i can't exist now?

fine.

ill stop.
on the account of my anxiety
getting worse --
my attendance too.
my friends leave me slowly.

i grow distant from the world
when i get anxious
and my writing helps me with that.

yeah, let's stop writing
and let that happen.

Stilled by a mid-summer chill,
and soaked by pelting rain,
the starlings watch
in somber silence.

A cautious wind
shoulders dry elm leaves,
as clunking boots
crack through open air.

Dark, iridescent
wings flitter, bent upwards
while a father whispers
a silent prayer.

Soldiers carve
through narrow streets,
as power lines hiss
with growing malice.

You’re one of the good ones.
You never make a show.
But the preacher swore
they’re coming for us,
so you can guess where my ballot would go.

You’re one of the good ones.
You’re not sassy or loud.
But honestly, why call it marriage?
Your love: unnatural; your vows: untrue.
Hey, at least I voted. You should be proud.

You’re one of the good ones.
You’re not flaming at the heels.
There’s plenty of work
in the city, or out of state
But have you thought about how I feel?

You’re one of the good ones.
There’s no need to gripe.
Don’t you see, despite perception,
we are all shrouded tight
in the tarnished stars and tattered stripes.

how am i meant
to know what my life
is going to look like
after highschool?

will i be in university?
studying what?
what job will i have?
where am i living?
what friends do i have?
did everyone leave?

how am i meant
to know
who i am
entirely
at 15
if most people
dont even know themselves
at 35?

i dread talking the truth,
letting those words flow out
of my brain
and out my mouth.

it's seldom.

i dont speak my truth,
i am never honest
with my real feelings.

wont it just hurt people?

theres no wrong answer
to what poetry is.

"poetry is rhyming"

wrong.
there is actually a
wrong
answer.

poems are little windows,
a view inside
someones head.

it doesn't have to rhyme,
it doesn't always have to provoke
feelings.

its just words,
that are there
to help
*someone

In the darkness of midnight, the moon turns away its face
I settle down behind my desk and write down my fate

I’ll form my sorrow in the shapes of lyrics and lines
Ones that won’t make sense in the bright morning light

The pen that bleeds ink made from my hatred and guilt
Words like stones that bring down the walls I have built

I’m the midnight poet, my safety the silence before dawn
So, at first light, all these thoughts will be gone.

what is this feeling that i am going through,
i feel pure ecstatic, the world feels brand new.
is what it feels like to fall in love?
or is it just a sign that was sent from above?

what is this feeling that i am going through,
my blood starts rushing each time I remember you.
i am a bunny that wants to hop all day,
im driven by joy that has come my way.

what is this feeling that i am going through,
i want to paint every shade born of you
i am a painter who just found his hue,
for all of my grey skies turned into blue

what is this feeling that I am going through,
i want to burn all my energy on you
there is a warmth i feel beside with your flame,
a warmth that whispers me your name

what is this feeling that i am going through,
a song in my chest that never knew.
i want ti dance gracefully, ill soar through the night,
because i see you as my shimmering light.