Time has passed, and everyone now decides to look forward. Yet, here you are. Wallowing in your bitter mood, unforgiving, and refusing to forget. Holding on so tightly to the past that your knuckles turn white, and the future is unseeable for your old eyes.
The rest of us have made great strides to move on; to heal, and shake off a past that no longer matters. They've taken steps forward, towards you, and for you, but you refuse acknowledge their existence.
You hold a grudge on people who have done nothing, people who you decide to blame for your own wrongdoings. You caused everything to unwind, to shrivel up, and to shatter into a billion unfixable pieces. You made no steps to fix it, and you lie to yourself each day, and say that you weren't the one responsible.
Because that's impossible to you, isn't it? For it to be all your fault? For you couldn't have possibly screwed your own life up so majorly that you lost everyone who loved you.
Though once solid, you are now transparent. Your tricks no longer work, and your words no longer burn us like a raging fire against soft skin. You've played all your cards in this game that became reality, and now you have nothing. No solid ground to stand on, no one to fall back on when you fail.
You've pushed everyone who every loved you a thousand miles away, and you did it for selfish reasons, and irrational thoughts.
At some point, I had hoped, that you would've learned your lesson. But, like an old dog, it's impossible to teach you new tricks.
YOU ARE READING
Unprofessional Poems
PoetryJust poems that were written by a teenager who does really know what she's doing. Please read. I promise they're not terrible- just unprofessional, and sometimes kind of angsty.
