written on 4/30/21
---
hands trace this body i refuse to call my own
i don't want this.
i hate feeling every moment of realization
the split where mind meets body
and learn to loath each other
this crease in my form
pins me against myself
and i want to lose
i want this buildup to take me somewhere
flood my anticipation and give me anguish
yet that never happens
i find myself on the outside of victory
trying to look in, see where it went wrong
so i can try and mend before it falls apart
i don't ever get to that point
so i cry
hoping that just enough tears melt away the frustration
i don't want to feel this much longer
why do i give myself when i don't receive what i deserve?
do i not deserve that?
what must i do to earn this fulfillment?
is this all i am worth?
---
feels like i finished this poem craving more, to actually finish the poem instead of leaving it off at this point. but it highly suits it so it remains this way, wanting to find its end. let's just say it goes with the meaning and how I'm feeling. hope you're living life and finding ways to enjoy it. goodnight dears.
YOU ARE READING
folie
Poetryjournal-like entries taken from my journal filled with poems and tales that might not make much sense to you. read if you don't mind it, though.
