Constant Torment

Why are there so many things in this world to worry about?

Why do I wait and wander in my worries when I could be doing something fun 

like making babies or going on journeys?

Why is the world so mean?

Why is the world such a bully?

Why does it push me around and knock me to the ground and how does it know I 

won't make a sound

or tell my mom or a teacher?

Because it knows I'm a bad public speaker.

And when I'm on stage, become weaker.

And when the curtain opens, I'll freeze.

And when I look into the crowd and see him  I'll fall to my knees

Because the scratches on my life were made with his keys.

He was the sunshine that gave me energy

The same sun that gave me the cancer that killed me.

Why does the world work that way?

Why does the world treat us like we're the runt and it's the first born?

Like we're the little sister who gets hand-me-downs and

Clothes that have already been worn?

Why does the world give you that feeling when you hear a car horn

Of some asshole who was driving too fast

Trying to escape his past

But before he knew it he crashed

Head first into the present

Nothing a speedometer could prevent 

Because the world was so intent

On it's constant torment. 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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