I want to travel. I want to do things. And I hate small spaces. I hate being in one place for too long. Being stuck at home is torture. I die inside every time I wake up. Because I'm home. Not outside, not sitting in the middle of the woods looking at clouds. I'm not stargazing, I'm not losing myself in a new city. I'm home. Where everything and everyone is familiar and it's suffocating. I feel trapped, lonely and bored. But mostly I feel cold. It's summer in Texas. To me it feels like winter. But not Texas winter, I mean real winter. Below zero winter with 6 foot snow. That type of cold. Always. Even when it's 100 degrees outside. I'm cold. I can't stand to be in this house, trapped in the same place. I feel myself rotting away. Little by little everything that once had meaning is slipping away, and I can't stop the emptiness I feel inside. I can't help but cry myself to sleep. Wouldn't you if you felt like you were in a cage?
You can say I'm being dramatic, but whatever. It's who I am. If I can't go live my life to the fullest, then why even bother to get out of bed.
No party, no explore the woods, nothing. No one to have fun with.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poesía"But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell. I know right now, you can't tell. But stay a while and maybe you'll see a different side of me" - Matchbox 20 Poems are my way of freedom, to express myself, and all of them are here in one place, most...
