Untiled 3

You know what I always ask myself, how much different would my life had been if I would've tried drugs, if I would've kept smoking?

How much different would my life have been if I would have kissed that boy, if I would have gave him my virginity when I was thirteen.

Or even what would my life had been if he would have continued to touch me, if he didn't stop.

I constantly ask myself these questions, because I'm constantly reminded how fucking miserable I am in my own skin, not because my life was necessarily hard, but because I constantly felt like I would never amount to  anything.

I wonder what my life would have been like if I would have passed out that night I tried to kill myself; would I still be alive, or would my mom have found me laying in that bath tub with blue skin, blank eyes.

Would she even remember, would she even care? 

I wish I wasn’t like this.

 

** A year later and I don't feel like this anymore.

Re reading those feelings and that sorrow pains me, I feel empty and I look at that person and don't even recognize her.

Who was she?

What caused her to feel like that, that night?

I don't quite understand these waves I get and that night a tsunami came in and drowned me.

I was low.

 

I am high now.

I'm now on a helicopter waving those waves goodbye.

I don't wanna drown anymore.

I am working on my self, because those waves are so deep.

And I don't want to go to war anymore. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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