i've always been searching for something.
i don't really know what it is.
i do know that i'll never find it.
something is missing—
something that i need,
that i can't live without.
i will never be satisfied; i know that.
i've never had enough.
and i'm missing a part of me, too.
something is undeniably wrong with me.
i have to be missing a piece,
maybe the part of my brain that's supposed to be happy.
maybe it's the fragments of my heart that i gave to everybody else.
maybe that's what's wrong with me.
and i'm missing her.
i'm missing the way she talks,
the way she put the hole of her flute to her lips
before twisting it out.
we all did that in elementary school,
but grew out of it in sixth grade.
somehow, she never stopped and i love her for it.
but then again, i guess she did stop.
she quit.
now i'm the (l)on(e)ly flute and missing her.
and i miss myself, possibly more than anyone or anything else.
i miss the old me,
the one
who could laugh and talk to people
without worrying about being good enough.
i miss the me before i realized
how short on time i really was. still am.
and,
above all,
i want someone to miss me.
YOU ARE READING
Raging Storm
Poetry{a storm may last a moment but a moment is all it takes} raindrops can be hurricanes, too. all raindrops end up in the ocean eventually, though. but we will rise again, learn to breathe again, because broken doesn't mean weak. A collection of poems...
