Poems and Emotions™

Overall Thoughts

I'm going to be alone next year.
You'll leave me for a giant school full of other people that are all a lot better than me.
They'll be funnier.
They'll seem more like family.
They'll be more caring.
They'll be there for you more.
They'll be better than what I try to be.
They'll treat you like I should have.
When I'm not to wrapped up in my own selfish emotions, I'm trying to be the best to you, but that brand new giant school will be better.
I'm sorry that I suck at life and emotions.
I'm sorry, friends.
I'm sorry that I'm not what you wish I could be.
There's still something wrong.
You'll all be gone having fun in your big lunchroom and I'll be alone crying in a bathroom stall at lunch.
It won't even be the right bathroom.
But who even knows who the fuck I'll be then.
I'm just a grade younger and the year will destroy me completely.
Why do you even tolerate me.
What's wrong with me.
Why can't I be normal.
Why aren't I good enough.
Why aren't I who I should be.
What's wrong.
I can't tell the school guidance lady because she'll just call my mom about it.
Fuck.
Like my mom would understand.
Good one.
Last night, I cried a lot.
I cried myself to sleep in a hotel.
Next to my family.
No.
Not my family, apparently.
"You're tearing this family apart."
But no.
He "didn't say that".
That's what he said.
He said he didn't say that.
My ears didn't hear wrong.
He spoke those words and he knows it.
But he's not wrong.
It's my fault they argued the whole trip.
Because I'm a selfish, unappreciative fuck up.
I'm still not surprised.
It's my fault that the whole family vacation was ruined.
I know they're going to bring it up soon.
They're gonna ask about getting someone to talk to out of school.
Maybe I can finally be honest with my thoughts.
Nobody knows how much I hate this person.
I say it sometimes but it's only the tip of the iceberg.
Emotions are bottled up from 3 years ago, still.
Shaken around, still fizzing by memory.
Flashbacks in a wine glass filled to the brink with mostly red.
Splotches of silver, white, blue, and a sandlike colour are scattered, unevenly.
The attempts and thoughts and the why not tonight's are still there.
The more recent confusion is there, too.
I'm sorry that you've read up to here. I'm just venting at this point.
Why are you still reading, it's just pointless to continue on observing.
Homesickness and swallowing sadness.
Fireworks look lovely but only when I'm with you and I'm feeling them instead of seeing them.
Rainy hair and handheld giggles.
We didn't care what they said or thought.
I'm sorry I spam text you so much.
I'm sorry I fuck up my emotions so much, too.
That probably annoys you a lot.
Sorry.
Anxiety letters from a plane's window seat.
Back to the wineglass filled with memory.
I'll have your finest regret, please.
Coming right up, sir.
I'm sorry that I'm hiding it.
I say that I want help and that I need it, but how is that going to happen when I hide all these stupid feelings.
Sorry.
I'm just an insomniac writer.
If you've read this far, congratulations.
You're the only person to read my dumb not even poetry rant.
Sorry.