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Sovi Watson

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

5 poems·Since June 2013

I like to think I am very creative, but it is a fact that I am odd. I have moved around a lot, but am from the south. I love a good book and am glued to poetry (particularly early American, Russian, and British). I am also a (amateur) novelist who strives to one day be published.

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When I Am Able

September 2, 2014

When I am able,

I speak my mind.

But mostly,

I am silent.

Their Judgment will be final

so I stay away.

Only to find thier eyes

back on me.

I try to be noticed

in positive ways,

but they all look away.

 

Then, suddenly,

they see me.

They really see me.

But, it's not what I wanted them to see.

Now, they see a girl,

a girl with acne on her face,

and greasy hair in place.

That's not what I wanted them to see.

 

I want them to see me.

To want to get to know me, like I want to know them.

The boy I sit by is lonely,

and I try and force a heartfelt smile,

but he only looks away.

 

When I am able,

I listen.

I listen to every single one of them.

I hear their hopes and dreams,

their nightmares.

I hear what they like to do,

what they want.

But, when I am able

to speak my mind towards them.

They laugh.

But, strangley. I do not cry.

 

No, I do not cry.

I am angry.

I am more angry than I am sad.

I feel misunderstood.

I feel what every other person in every room can feel.

I feel drowned out in a pool of normalcy.

A pool of untapped potential,

that keeps us all

trapped.

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