In Defense of a Ghost

I first started writing poetry when I first started getting confused

in our society, you have to use money: fine

all things must die: alright

you are unhappy more often than most people: ok

you will work and then you will die: so it goes

the person you are in love with no longer loves you: why?

before him, I had accepted everything as a matter of course, a necessary evil

it seems shallow that the one concept I couldn't accept was losing the frivolous attentions of an 19 year old boy

but it was 

and I started writing poems

poems trying to decipher looks and caresses and horrifically cruel texts

poems that started tentative and grew louder (a moan escalating into a howl)

and he was never one to explain himself and he was never one for goodbyes so I filled notebooks with all my confusion

till finally

he was gone

and i kept writing

when something doesn't go the way you expected, you start to question the things that surround it

why did that boy always treat me like i'm weak?

why do some of my professors condescend to me?

is that strange man on the street allowed to talk to me like that?

i asked question after question till i stopped feeling confused and started feeling righteous

i am still howling but it is not out of hurt but because i should be heard