someday, i’ll wake up and
tell myself how silly this dream is,
living in a teenager’s body,
not growing up, not growing.
i’ll laugh when i remember that
this girl badly wants to be heard,
in her house, at her school, by people
around her, though she really never learned
how to speak.
and i’ll laugh harder for she resorted into
writing instead, ’cause that’s what
pathetic people do.
being a poet is the most pathetic thing
to be.
and i will start mocking this lifetime,
and scold myself for the decisions that
i have made because if it was real life,
then i would have done better.
but this is just a dream.
and someday, i’ll wake up
and regret sleeping this long because
i am already late for work.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
