A Poem In Which I Whine About All Of My Problems in a Cryptic Fashion

I would say I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place,

But sometimes, it’s more like I’m stuck between a rock and the ground.

I’m pinned in place, and I can’t move.

And the rock is sharp and covered in broken glass.

And the ground is on fire.

I can’t leave my house without thinking about

The fact that today could be my last.

I can’t go to school without being burned,

Or to parties without being shoved.

I can’t be alone without getting cut,

Or with my family without getting kicked.

 

So I would say I’m stuck between a rock and the ground,

But sometimes, it’s more like I’m on one of those cable dog runs.

Except the glass and the fire are still there.

Essentially, it’s a dog run in Hell.

I can move, more or less freely, at least to an extent,

But the glass claws at my clothes and the flames lick at my skin.

I’m marching for my rights,

But I’m walking across broken glass and burning coals,

And all I’m marching for is a pair of shoes.

 

So I would say I’m on a dog run in Hell,

But sometimes, it’s more like I’m in a plastic bubble.

I see the world happening around me,

And I’m a part of it, but barely.

I walk around and experience,

And I can still feel the flames on my feet,

And I’m using up my oxygen as I watch the world turn,

As I watch everyone else walk on broken glass and cry out for my help,

But I can’t change anything, because any time I reach out, I roll away.

I’m like Sisyphus, going uphill,

And for every foot of progress, I spiral back two.

I’m relatively safe, but at what cost?

 

So I would say I’m in a plastic bubble,

But sometimes, it’s more like I’m underwater.

The flames are inside me now,

Burning my lungs and melting my resolve.

I’m shouting up, up at the surface,

But the water is swallowing my every word,

And I’m swallowing the water,

And the one person on the lifeboat can’t hear me.

Or maybe she doesn’t want to listen.

 

It’s too deep to swim up,

Too deep to keep your attention,

Too deep to backtrack to a lighter note

And end with a smile.

So I’ll end how I always end:

I’m sorry.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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