I can't
I can't do it
This week has me bruised and shattered
Weak and tearful
Colour seems duller
Highlighter seems more grey
The sun is yet to shine again
As the autumn days grow shorter
The clouds obscuring the gentle light.
Today I cried.
Twice. Thrice. Four times.
I'm mortified that teachers saw me
But even more that my peers did
How dare I cry
When I supposedly have it well?
When the stress is bearing down
Crushing me with all its might
Deeming me unworthy.
Useless. A failure.
Not enough.
No one.
Gone.
I don't recognise my reflection.
When did I become so miserable?
With permanent eye bags,
And an icy hard stare,
Tendrils of self-doubt curling my hair.
I want to be happy again.
The girl across the street
Who cried with laughter
An innocent girl
I can no longer reach.
She's too far away.
I can't reach.
And yet I'm reaching down
Not the correct way up
With caesuras. And enjambments
That I must learn
And pathetic fallacy I must know
As the clouds start to turn in turmoil
The sibilance I must learn with
Every sickening slap on my stark streaked white cheek
Or the friction with every fuck I can fucking scream and the fucking stress
Stress, that's killing me softly.
Gently.
Poems I must memorise, about who dem is
And 'playground voices'
Looming mountains and photographers.
'Suddenly he was up and running'
And poems about 'merciless iced east winds' .
When did I start dreading English?
When did I decide, I am not worth it?
YOU ARE READING
Certainty Of Midnight
Poetryemotion ɪˈməʊʃ(ə)n/ noun a strong feeling deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others. A snippet of a teenage girl's mind. Excuse the hormonal anger. I started this book when I was thirteen or fourteen. I publish, unpublish...
