I SHOULDN'T HAVE LEFT MY FRIENDS BACK IN CALIFORNIA.
Oregon is beautiful, but I know nobody.
I CAN'T FUCKING SPEAK UP OR START A CONVERSATION.
I'm too shy.
I CARE WHAT STRANGERS THINK OF ME.
I don't care what I think of myself.
I'M NOT SURE WHICH ONE MAKES ME INSECURE.
I wonder what readers will think of this.
I CAN'T EVEN REREAD MY OWN POETRY. I'M REMINDED OF THE THOUGHTS THAT FLOODED MY MIND DURING THE PROCESS.
They're all forms of depression.
WHY CAN'T I WRITE ABOUT HAPPINESS?
Why do I even write at all?
WHO THE FUCK AM I TRYING TO IMPRESS?
Someone I'll probably never meet in my life.
YOU ARE READING
Educated Stress
PoetryThe third collection of my poetry. All of these poems were written during my freshman year of college.
