life

i feel like life is simply an input of tries and do-not-tries and let's talk to this person! and let's do this, and let’s do that, and oh no....talking to that person fucked up, and so many other fuck-ups. and tripping down the stairs and not caring about if it hurt, but-dammit!- he saw me, and it didn’t actually hurt, i’m fine, really, i promise.



life is a string of crazy moments, put together, and if you zoom in ever so closely, they're just as cheesy as those tumblr posts your finger lazily scrolls away from.



life is all lowercase with no capital letters.



life is funny. life is sad.



life is so much laughter until your chest hurts, and when that happens, you can't remember why you were ever unhappy, but if you do, it doesn't matter. and when life is sad, everything seems to hurt, and everything seems to go downhill, faster and faster, and the trees and the people and the happy memories seem to blur around you, they don't matter, nothing matters, and it's easy, it's so easy to write a happy story, it’s so easy to write a sad story, but to write a just okay one? is everything going to be...just okay? is that what i want?



life is about trying. trying to make little pastel colored sticky notes and daily reminders, trying not to get too self-obsessed. but then just enough self-obsessed to be accepted into society? is that what life is? i don’t know.



life is whatever i wanted it to be, whatever it could be, a blank white page of glistening hope, and all those pretty quotes with majestic sunrises i see on people's social media statuses. life could be and is that. there is no denying it.



life is so much wasted time. so much. so much time goes into nothingness, life can be so many tears.



i don't know if those tears get me anywhere. do they? some might. but i think i have to realize that i must move on, that life could be so much more if i just put my pencil on the paper and tried. and if not, if i went outside and spread out my arms like a soaring eagle, and ran.

because at least then i’m doing something. if i took out my notebook and wrote the words that were screaming into my brain, screaming to be free, and i want someone to know me and to help me, but things are different now. my life is different now.

it needs to be me, i need to be the kind of someone who needs to realize sooner or later that i am my own person, and only i can fix myself...in the end, I must care most.



maybe life would be better if i did that...if i just did that more.



 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Abby Studer

This is awesome!! Put into words so perfect.

cloudinthestars

Thank you so much!

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