warning: emo 16-year-old poetry. not for the feint of heart. may trigger gag reflex.
Then I was alone. Or maybe I had been alone for some time. Maybe I was always alone. I was insufficient. But how should I have known? I put so much into this. Now I understood the poems. The song lyrics. It is like you’ve lost part of yourself. Better to have loved and lost? Why didn’t she just let me in? I should have seen it coming.
Confusion. Pain. The kind where it hurts to stand still. Even sit still. The smiles were fake. Nothing was for sure. No, I don’t want to right now. Yes, I am losing interesting in things I once enjoyed. No, I am not clinically depressed. I don’t want to talk about it. It just wasn’t ready to come out yet.
It was getting harder to hold it in. Some spilled out on a piece of clay. It seems in my frustration I broke my plate in half. It’s a metaphor. That felt good. I made more metaphors. They went over everyone else’s heads. They helped me get my head straight. I could articulate. This was good.
The hole was being filled. Then it was over. No, it’ll never be fully over. But I don’t need the angry music anymore. Smiles dont make me sad anymore. Still alone. But this time it’s a good kind of alone. The old interests return. I’ve gained some new. Like my metaphors. I sit in front of a fresh piece of clay. There aren’t any metaphors inside this one. No more overflowing liquid to pour out. Not even a drop to squeeze out. I guess I should be happy. At least smiles don’t make me sad anymore. Better to have loved and lost?
