impermanence

fourteen.

𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅𝒚 𝒆𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒏𝒂.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

none of this is poetic—
my life, my pain

none of this is poetic,
but i need it out of my brain

you romanticize my existence
although it's nothing great

there's the wrong name
plastered on the walls,
the wrong syllable
rolling off their tongues

you speak the sound out loud
and my heart sinks to the ground

i string the wrong letters together
when i think it'll keep me safe
but after all, i just feel
like i'm horribly out of place

this body doesn't belong to me
i feel so far away

it's fucking exhausting
to stumble through every day

existing shouldn't be this hard,
i shouldn't have so little left
to have to get me so far

most of my friends
don't even care
and my dad just asks
if i'll grow out my hair

my body isn't mine
no matter how hard i try, it's a lie
—can't you see it in my eyes,
teardrops falling from the sky—
and when i tell you i'm fine
i'm actually dying inside

if you looked close enough, i'm
sure you could see
the broken pieces inside of me
glinting in weak dying light
waiting to be formed into the me
i was always meant to be

you used the name that never fit right
and i couldn't even tell you why
the mere sound of it makes me want to cry
because i sit inside, and i hide

sometimes i think i'll never
make it to twenty-one,
some days i think i've already
had enough

none of this is poetic—
the imbalance in my brain

none of this is poetic,
i must be going insane

please get me out of this body, this mind
please free me from this prison of a life