This poem will have no direction,
Like my life.
there is a direction, but it is too bedeviled with pain,
Pain others carry well,
Or don’t. How would I know.
what I do know is pain shared is easier to carry
Like the sack of potatoes that I switched,
from one hurting hand to another.
but now it’s too hard to hold
all of this,
Days when something small but cruel hits you facefront,
Perhaps recoiling to somewhere sadder,
Quietly brooding the hurt away.
with no one to call it back.
to say you don’t give a shit and to actually not give a shit
Are two different battles.
I choose to live in the ephemeral joy of not caring for 10 minutes.
For 10 minutes my heart is painless.
Sometimes, you vow you’d love yourself regardless,
And sometimes you almost do
Then the world happens.
And suddenly you don’t like mirrors.
I don’t like to be quiet.
But it now seems like the best (only?) resort.
while I jumble between a hundred
full grown adults,
I’m unable to carry conversations,
I feel the insincerity,
it’s leaking through their eyes.
always in the eyes.
what have we become.
Life has now become a,
Constant battle between trying to love yourself,
trying to love the world
and trying to love someone else.