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Going on 15 but my mind atleast 50
An excerpt from the book I'll never write.
A passage from the letter I never wrote.
That's a lie I wrote one last night.
After we had that cat fight.
After I looked into the sun and moon to see my last light.
Remember it so hard like it was a past life.
Remember it so vividly like it was current strife.
But that's an excerpt from the book I'll never write.
Because who would read it ?
Who would listen to my struggles and pains.
My inner demons and lesser gains.
I only like it when it rains.
Come to think of it. I only like it when it storms.
As hard as your house can take it.
Windows shaking. Roof rumbling. Ground throbbing.
See I used your house as a metaphor for my heart.
See I used the storm as a metaphor for my art.
You can only take so much before you go crazy.
And a lot of people have been thinking that's me lately.
And a lot of people don't know that I have panic attacks daily.
But that's just an excerpt from the book I'll never write.
Because why would I write it ?
So I can relive my life.
My short 15 years.
My 15 years trying so ever hard to be like my peers.
And then I realize one night that that's not me and end my life in tears.
I cry when I'm alone because it's a scared feeling.
I feel like a wall sitting on the edge of a cliff with its paint peeling.
No body besides her knows what I'm dealing.
With. But she says that's the problem.
The sad thing is is that I don't know how to solve them.
Every night I fight to keep the pain away.
I fight away and away until I think my demons are slayed.
Then I fall asleep and my nightmares wake.
It's a miracle I can go by day to day.
My beam of sunlight I see it Ray to Ray.
But that's just an excerpt from a book I'll never write.
Writers block is non existent for me I always have my mental wits to talk about.
Like just yesterday in last block I was stressing and had to talk a loud.
How I do it I forget.
But I think this is my last year stint.
After this I think I'll be just as forgetful as pocket lint.
No one knows my problems lie within.
But with each stroke of a pen.
With each letter I type.
I feel my heart open up as big as a whales mouth.
I pour out my emotions and keep the ones I save in a vault.
I'll tell you someday. Maybe when I'm a adult.
But I guess my life's a excerpt from a book no one ever wrote.
Full of pain,suffering and a lot of guilt.
Hatred,love,lust or want.
I can see you barely unless the screening tilts.
I see him everyday his eyes look like they want to taunt.
But my life lines have been draw taut.
I just hope when I leave you remember what I taught