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A Poem About Nothing
In which everyone is moving forward in life and I am stuck,
One foot in cement that dried four years ago,
And my friends freed themselves before it was too late
While I convinced myself that one more day wouldn't hurt;
At least I was still alive,
And the sun laughed as it sealed my fate,
And it laughs to this day while I break my fingernails clawing at the ground,
Looking at everyone I know as they sprint in seven different directions
And leave me to rot.
In which I was eleven the first time I ever wanted a specific young man to be my boyfriend,
And dozens have taken his place ever since,
And I'm beginning to wonder if I am not simply a shadow after all,
Permanently hidden in a dark corner of my own creation,
Because eleven-year-old me would probably cry to know
That Boy #1 never even looked at me twice,
And perhaps no one ever will.
In which a week ago in school,
We were forced to take an "inventory" of our interests,
And as I sorted everything into the pile labeled
"Does not interest me"
A panic engulfed my brain.
What DO I like?
What AM I good at?
All I am is a textbook at midnight,
A middle finger calloused forever ,
Not because I like to write anymore
(I do not),
But because instead of becoming a person,
I became seven letters,
All of them A;
A is for Aimless.
In which I am nothing if I am not perfect,
And, good God, I am not perfect.
So what does that make me?
In which I would sell my internal organs for an A on a test,
And I would forfeit my friends for everyone to think I can do no wrong,
And I don't care about anything except everything,
And I care so much it hurts:
All the time.
In which I dread every single day of my life because every day could be my downfall,
And when you've never done anything but walk on a tight rope the length of your existence,
You become destined to fall,
And the thing about humanity is,
The longer you stay up,
The more they want you to fall.
In which I am so unmotivated to live,
Or to do anything, for that matter.
And I can see the time passing,
A new grey hair for every new day
(I'm sixteen; why do I even have so many grey hairs?),
And no college will ever want me
Because I am not a leader in any aspect of the word,
I am not talented by any definition,
I am terrified of social interaction by all means,
And although my grades are good,
It's not because I am intelligent by anyone's standards,
But because I sacrifice my peace of mind for them,
Because I am expected to.
And I have no hobbies,
Or life experience,
And who wants anyone who is composed of
10% anxiety and
In which I believe that all life has purpose,
But I am the most lifeless human being you will ever have the misfortune of encountering.
So maybe I lost my purpose when I signed away my spirit?
All I know is that I don't want to sell my soul to make a living,
But I have no other means of success,
And therein lies my greatest fear:
How can I escape when my problem is the nothingness I have personally crafted around myself?
In which my life is awesome but I despair anyway.
I love my family,
But every nerve in my body is pulled tight during dinner in the evening,
And my friends are museum-worthy works of art and excellence,
But I can't stand to be around them because I feel ugly and boring and like a huge weight trying to hold them back,
And I was blessed with everything I have ever wanted,
But I still feel like nothing.