Night // Day

Location

I think I am at my most unadulterated at night.

My anxieties, my fears

come crawling out of the crevices of my mind

like Chuthulu from the watery depths.

I lie awake for hours

double checking

triple checking

that my assignments are turned in,

that I am all registered for college,

that I have to go to work tomorrow.

Work. Oh.

My stomach flips at the thought.

Another mistake,

Another holler.

I toss and turn trying to get comfortable.

I result to taking comfort in my phone

and basking in the pale light.

I pour every little thought out to my friends

because they are too toxic to boil in my mind.

But it's 1:30

and we have school tomorrow.

They have an anatomy test tomorrow.

I have a theatre performance.

I hear my mom snore in the other room.

At least someone is getting rest around here.

 

I think I am at my most unadulterated during the day.

My confidence, my goals

shine outward like the morning sun as I make my commute into work.

I fall asleep during 4th hour.

Twice that hour

Thrice that hour.

All my assignments are turned in.

I'm all set for college.

Rehearsal, a nap, then work tonight.

Oh, work.

My pursed lips soften at the thought.

Another day,

Another dollar.

I sit back up, trying to pay attention.

I result to getting distracted by my phone.

Turning it on accidentally sets off Siri's tiny tone, and the class snickers.

I tell every detail of the day to my friends at lunch.

They complain about the anatomy quiz.

I cringe over the lackluster theatre performance.

The roar of the lunchroom is deafening as we sit, practically soaked in vinegar.

At least someone is having a great time around here.

 

I am not quite sure who I am.

Because whenever I evaluate myself,

I always believe that the person I am

at that moment in time

is the person I am regularly.

Often times I feel like who I really am

doesn't broadcast farther than the outer layers of my psyche.

When I speak, I feel like a historian,

attempting to translate a poem from another language;

I'm getting the gist out, but not the emotion captured in the original text.

It takes me a while to find the words that need to be said.

So please excuse our mess,

it's hard to keep clean when you're excavating thoughts out of an unsound mind.

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