Unfortunately, i made a poetry blog

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How it is, is not how it used to be. I was once a human and a happy one at that. A person with morals, aspirations, and a community, just as everyone should. For fading speckles of my life, I even asked myself "What more could I want?" Truly, with the utmost certainty from the highest court, I was happy.

Little did I know - know the naivety that protected me, would soon take shape into something else. Something inhuman, and inhumane... I had lost my ignorance, and with that, slowly my happiness...

I hadn't realized it yet, but it was hindering, disappearing, like a glass of water. The more you take, the less you'll have, but you need it to survive; so what happens when there is no more water to drink, and it's all your fault?

Then you begin to pity yourself, and guilt crawls up your spine like a colony of ants, all of them collectively swarming you. They see you as nothing more than dead meat, and soon enough, you do too.

It's all a blur after that- after the ants eat you up. Insects infest your body, waking you up in the middle of the night leaving you sleepless, in a cold sweat and weak. I would always blame it on bed bugs, but deep down I knew it wasn't them, it was me.

Something was wrong with me- I didn't feel human anymore, I felt empty and isolated because I was torn apart gradually until only a skeleton remained of me. No water to quench my thirst, no people to share in my loneliness. I was too repulsed in myself to even step out of my house.

Days, weeks, months, but yet nothing changes.

And with that, I sit alone in the dark space, reminiscing on the, "used to be," and seething further into the, "how it is."

For a faint withering delusion in my new life, I even pleaded to myself, as if naively searching for a miracle, I asked the memory of the human I used to be,

A/N: Graphic swear words are used. Proceed with caution!

The beating of the heart is not from a soothing warm embrace or a whisper of sweet nothings in my ear but from the shallowness of my conscience.

"I'm scared," I say to myself.

That message and its voice is ongoing. Over and over again, it replays in my head like an alarm clock. It goes back and forth as if it's swinging on an axis. But unlike anything I've ever seen in a math problem, it is not predictable, and simaltanously re-shaping.

"I'm scared," once more goes my concious.

The next time I hear it, its softer, slower, but feels all too real. Imagine a black room, only a black room, and you sit in the middle of it. Not a sight to be seen or a sound to be heard; only darkness. Like entering a void, or a black hole, not even the smartest of humanity can de-bunk the nature of such profound and unknown things. Its that uncertainty that eats at your heart stings.

"I'm scared," for a second time it speaks to me.

However, its changed again. Like before, the tone and intent turn upside down right infront of me. Now the voice is rushing, hurrying you! Burning into you skin like a match to a wick, causing the blood in your veins to boil rapidly until they burst like a grenade. Soon enough, worry forms into wrath, and you feel the urge to curse the world! Rip pages out of a book, punch your fists into a wall, yell out above a hill at God, or at god knows who!

"Screw society!"

"Fuck the world!"

"Down with the bastard king!"

"It's going to hell!"

"Shits flying everywhere-"

"AND NOBODIES DOING A DAM THING!"

You shout, with your most horrible throaty voice.

But once the flood ceasesthere is always bliss, and you realize, in a moment of sudden stillness and silence, that we were never angry, just scared. So scared, paranoid even, in a world thats out of our control.

The only authority we truly have are our words, so with the little power that is left, I re-take the stage, and I say, finally for the people all the way in the back,

"I'm scared."

I've been told for a while now, since 2nd grade to be exact, that I am talented.

That because the numbers I amount to on paper are above average,  I am talented.

Why do my test scores make me special? why does it matter that I'm "gifted"? why is it so important that I have all As?

I write poems. and play instruments. I paint, and I make clothes. But that doesn't matter to the American school system.

To them I'm just high numbers and good behavior. I don't make a scene,  I stay in line, make sure to stay out of sight.

I'm dreading the day, that the numbers go down. when I'm less than average, practically worthless.

If my report card reads B, C, D, or F, where has my worth gone? Suddenly if my grades arent the first letter in the ABCs  I'm doomed.

if i'm a genius, why have i failed a math test?

sometimes the only thing i look forward to in the day is the end of it.

Don't bury yourself in poems, drying ink is not a coffin lid closing.

You are here, you are here.

I get jealous when friends I really like talk to other people sometimes

I get jealous when I see a skinny person

I get jealous when my dog is listening to someone else more than me

I get jealous when I see someone do better than me at something I love

But nothing makes me more jealous, then when I can hear my little sister and my dad laughing together

When I hear her giggling bc he's tickling her

Or when I hear my dad make an exaggerated groan bc she 'punched' him

Or when my little sister tells me about this epic fight they had

Or when they play video games in the living room

And I can hear them getting playfully competitive

Or my little sister laughing because she beat him in something

giggling,

crying.

We were supposed to all be friends,

but now were like an unsolvable puzzle,

and ill sit at a coffee table and try to jam pieces together till my fingers bleed.

I thought we were all supposed to have a future together,

but its all washing down the drain,

swirling

swirling.

i try to catch our liquid dreams but it runs through my fingers,

it feels soft on my hands.

I remember all the times together,

and it feels like im friends with time capsules at this point.

Nobody is the same, and we'll never be.

Draining