I feel like I'm running out of time
seconds minutes hours days months
all slipping from my grasp like sand
like I'm not doing enough
like there's not enough time for my dreams
it seems like yesterday I was 14
now I'm on my way to college in a month
not enough time
slipping away from me
can I do this in my limited lifespan
I may seem young
and that I have plenty of time
but it seems to pass me by faster and faster
maybe I'll blink and wow!
another year will've passed

I write and write and write
in no way am I laconic
the words flow and flow and flow
pages and pages and pages filled
watching notebooks pile up
my thoughts and emotions
filling each page
my very essence poured into my poetry
laconic is never and will never
be a part of me

I am comfortable with veracity
facts are true and unchanging
solid and reliable
something I can depend on
but my emotions hit me at full force
they leave me out of my depth
they're chaotic and everchanging
it's like being thrown in off a cliff
and struggling to swim in a choppy ocean
I can say I'm going to college
that's a fact
but emotions come in to play
when I think of how I'm leaving
my parents and cats
eagerness and uncertainty
hope and fear
excitement and homesickness

one simple word is holding
me captive
my thoughts begin to bombinate
inside my head
you left me on read
I'm trying to stay calm
and rational
but my thoughts bombinate
inside my head
and my overthinking self
kicks in
what if you don't want to be
friends any longer
what if you were too busy to respond
what if I annoy you
what if you forgot to reply
my thoughts bombinate
in my head
as I struggle to stay rational
and calm

I love writing
whether it's poetry
or creating stories
it would be a dream come true
if I could do this for a living
but the voice in the back of my head
is dubious
it tells me things that bring my hope down
what if I'm not good enough at this
what if no one likes my words
what if I lose my passion
and I'm left with nothing
but dubious thoughts

sorrow overfills my soul
when I think of what my
younger self endured
they didn't deserve that
all the pain and suffering
and the hunger and tears
the panic and fear
the shattered trust
sorrow overfills my soul
when I think of what my
younger self endured

I don't want to be altruistic
or a people pleaser
or a doormat
my bones ache from giving in
to everything
shouldering all the burdens
ignoring my issues
listening to the tears of others
and hiding mine in the darkness
I don't want to be altruistic
or a people pleaser
or a doormat
I want to stand up for myself
to be assertive
to have time to myself
I don't want to be altruistic