This is a collection of poems about my life at the moment. "Meet me in the woods" is my favorite song right now, so a large inspiration for this chapter.
Alone in the night
I find the most peace in my nights spent alone.
I enjoy every second I spend behind closed doors after sun down.
Painting, drawing, writing, any muse to express.
I have not had one of those nights in far too long.
I feel as if I am struggling in a way I cannot express,
Then again, I am sixteen, when am I not.
Hoping in the most genuine way possible to have a night spent hearing nobody's voice but my own.
Peaking through the trees
I am lost.
Having false, but realistic perceptions of my worst fears.
Call them hallucinations, but I see them as reminders of the past that has not yet ended.
I trudge through the woods, falling in the thorns of rose bushes.
I see peaks of the sun through the trees.
I see rays peeking through the branches.
So while the night is here, it is not longer young.
I am hopeful.
In the inbetween
Something about a past that stings will leave you with a deep sense of disconnect unlike any other.
I am so tired of living in the past, yet it's where I feel I am most connected to.
The present is a distant friend of mine,
We see each other on the weekends, but the deep ties I have with the past do not compare.
I imagine being in the real world is quite enjoyable.
Feeling the roller coaster and sharing space,
I do not know that world, I've found peace in space between now and then, yet I yearn to be a part of the human experience.
I do not find joy in writing about this disconnect and these memories.
Yet in my moments of peace, I am not in the woods, I
I am in a distant movie theater.
I am not one to find enjoyment in being the kid who can't get out of his head and always seems like he is not in the here and now.
Yet it is where I find myself.
I'll be holding on to you
They haven't been bad in such a long time,
I can't remember when they hurt quite like this.
On some level I know my perceptions are false,
I have gotten better about telling the difference,
But that does not take away the instinctual fear.
I see shadows standing over me, I see bugs crawling my walls and have an understanding for things that are not true.
My heart races because of the ghost in my walls and my mind tries to slow it down because that's a part of the real world..
What to make of this I am unsure.
But I am holding on, to writing and to hope, waiting for the sun to rise again, because it always does.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
