poetry

5.12.24

pin drop

people older than me but didn't live the same way as i do
tell me i'm too caught up in what's not real
but there is nothing i can say to make them understand that
i have a right of way i haven't been using
and even if i did i don't think the cars would stop anyway
toppling over me like the head of a statue
and i am too prideful to set myself back up on my chin
because it seems a certain look makes or breaks
how many people will delve into the words i say
for the rest of my life
so i will always plead with myself to say nothing
because no words big enough
could shelter me from that miserable silence
their faces seem to move as a unit
whenever someone like me stands from my chair
can they see through me? how completely fake it is?
but they feign innocence with everyone else in on it
like the most depressing surprise party of all time
when i have my own capable brain as well
and i feel like a team of one man against the entire world before me
dirty laundry piles in the corner
lying in bed with a wet face
someone comes in but they somehow don't notice
the terrible smell, their feet sinking into
my cluttered floors, because i am dressed
and those clothes on my crooked body
are enough to say that i am decent
but i wonder what they think of
when they see themselves in my mirror
when they listen to the words
not always written by me, but always about them
is it obvious enough yet?
that i am alive but feel dead at the same time?
do these words make any headway?
will they ever?
or do they have to come out of my mouth?
but it's always my mouth that wills to be unheard from
always another proxy
immobile lips chapped cracking and bleeding
even when i don't say anything to you
something as fundamental as me breathing
still manages to annoy people
i have nothing of my own anymore
i am watching a childhood home thats not mine
fall inwards onto itself and i cant do anything
except watch it in silence, and i wonder why
other people aren't doing anything
why they aren't asking me what i'm even looking at
silence doesn't mean content
i wonder about all the memories
that i could have made
but i never bothered to walk inside
open the fridge, smell the coat closet
is it too late?
maybe. probably.
i doubt it would be worth it anyway