I am defined by numbers.
All I do is count count count
My friends, my weight, my grades,
Everything in my life surmounts
To a number.
Number One- the people in my life.
I love them so, but I fear they might
Stab me in the back with a knife
Despite the fact we never fight.
At the end of the day, it's fight or flight
Because humans are predators in the night.
They resort to killing the weak, but what if that means me?
So, I count one...
two...
three
Friends are all I really need.
According to the rule of quality over quantity,
But there's a hunger for more popularity inside of me,
So I count her friends to see
How I could possibly
End up like her. With everything
At my freshly painted fingertips.
Number Two- the look of my life.
I can't help but wonder what I look like
On the other side.
Do they see every single pore? The bags under my eyes?
That show regardless of all the caffeine I consume and all the sleep I get at night.
Would they count every wrinkle, pore, zit,
And tell me to cover it,
But makeup is just so expensive.
ten...
fifteen...
twenty...
Bucks spent on some tiny mirror
When I don't even want to see myself in it,
Because I know I'll count every single pound I see.
Just like each and every calorie I eat.
seventy-five...
one-hundred...
one-fifty...
I need to starve and quit eating.
I go down
five...
ten...
fifteen...
Pounds, and suddenly, I'm a success story.
No matter the extent to which I feel empty.
Next, there's the ratings,
One to Ten ranging. I'm a
two...
four...
six...
Minus five, but that's just the rating I'm giving.
It's the only one that matters mainly
Because I can count the number of people who have called me pretty.
one...
two...
three...
I don't agree. No matter how many,
They must be lying.
Number 3- the scoring of my life.
Three strikes, I'm out,
But I won't even make it that far If I don't amount to what I should be in my mind.
A Ten-Point scale determines my entire future.
I've counted only one chance. To it, I cannot butcher.
So I count the hours of studying and ditching my friends.
one...
three...
five...
I'm living, but I'm not truly alive.
Five turns into Twenty-Five,
And soon enough, that multiplies.
Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes and die just to take a break from my life.
So, I count the number of times I've thought about this.
hundreds...
thousands...
millions...
But I keep going so maybe one day that's the money I'm living with.
So I can afford a nice house with a picket fence in a fancy neighborhood with fancy friends.
But what if none of it's worth it in the end?
I count the years
five...
ten...
fifteen...
sixteen
Years I have been alive.
I count the tears.
millions....
billions...
trillions
Of tears that I have cried.
Often I wonder if in
ten...
twenty...
thirty
Years I'll regret counting every aspect of my life
And wasting my youth by keeping eyes on the mirrors and the money and my self-claimed maturity.
Rather than living in the present of the supposed best years of my life.
I blame the Egyptians for creating numbers to begin with,
And the Lydians for creating a money system within it
Because before they did, everyone traded.
Maybe that means I could've swapped my life for someone else's.
YOU ARE READING
a little book of poetry
Poetrya collection of poems I have written. Enjoy! highest ranking: number 294 in poetry
