Find Me Where You Look

I am

the fog of daydreams when you close your

eyes in math class -

when sine over cosine equals the tangent

that your mind wanders off to

in search of anything

anything more interesting.

I am

the shape of a hardback journal

with scribbles and notes and thoughts and emotions and memories

(even the ones you can’t wait to forget).

I’ll let the world write itself on the pages in my head

and edit the comments into and out of my final draft.

I am

the sound of the teacher’s clock wound a little too tight

tick. tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.

one staccato beat after another, each

chasing after the future.

I am

a steaming cup of coffee at 4:00 in the morning:

either keeping you awake or getting you there.

There is a reason I am not everyone’s cup of tea.

I am

the feeling of earning a B:

just enough.

I am

forever changing my definition.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741