I wrote this poem the other night just for the sake of writing something and the result is something that I identify with and part of me doesn't hate the way it turned out
so imma just post it here
(possible trigger warning??)
***
You spilt the pitcher of sweet tea.
Hardly anything was on the counter, really,
but that didn't matter.
You still spilt it.
And if you were anyone else,
It wouldn't be a big deal. Would it? Maybe not.
But again,
It doesn't matter.
Because it's a big deal to you.
Because your day consisted of
Getting an 84 on that Algebra quiz
And old you would have been thankful
But now you're just tearing yourself down for it
Because Kyle got an 89,
And he told you he did awful,
Which means that if an 89 is awful,
You literally just failed
The whole goddamn class.
And you're tearing yourself down
Over a B.
The spilt sweet tea matters to you
Because you woke up this morning
And the thought
Of pulling yourself out of bed
Almost made you vomit
Because you just didn't see the point in it
And no one would exactly care
If you don't pull yourself out of bed
Because you spend every waking minute of the day
Believing that you exist
Just so you can take up space.
No one would exactly care
If you stopped breathing.
But you pulled yourself up, anyway.
The spilt sweet tea matters to you
Because you've ruined your sleep schedule
Once again.
Not because you binge watched It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia,
But because you kept spending all of your nights,
Kept awake by the thoughts that come in
Like a gust of wind at 10 PM.
By 10:30 came around,
You're telling yourself to calm down.
"Just go to sleep, it's fine."
11 PM comes,
And you're manically
Scratching up your arms
And across your chest
Because everything's too much
And hurting yourself
Is the only thing you can do.
Now it's midnight.
Your scratching's basically stopped.
But now you just lie in bed
Almost lifeless
Because you wish you actually were.
You lie there
And you're telling yourself,
"I can't wake up.
No one would care if I don't wake up.
I don't have an actual purpose in life
And I just don't enjoy living."
And three months ago,
The thought of dying terrified you.
And now you seem to favor it.
And now you spend every day
wishing
It would actually happen.
The spilt sweet tea matters to you
Because it's just contributing
To the ruins
Of your self esteem
And how you believe
That you can't do anything right,
you always ruin everything,
And how
You just don't deserve to be around
If you can't even get a liquid
Into a cup.
YOU ARE READING
garbage time | rants and things
Randomin which a sad, bitter cubs fan annoys her wattpad followers even more. *** idk how his works but i don't own the show garbage time, i thought it'd be a nice title idea