Author: Forgotten Shoes

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I think soon I’m just gonna come out and say

I’m done trying.

What’s the point of doing this if everyone is just gonna keep telling me it’s not good enough?

What’s the point of trying if I’m never getting into the show?

What’s the point what’s the point what’s the point what’s the point what’s the point what’s the

Point?

It’s not fulfilling anymore. It’s not anything more than a finished assignment.

But for the past nearly 10 years its what I’ve made my personality out of. It’s what kept me seen by strangers.

Dang it, I just want to quit sometimes.

My parents would be so mad.

My best friend would cry.

They’d try to talk me out of it.

Would i even listen?

I hate how I feel right now.

I hate that it doesn’t feel worth the effort.

I hate that no one is really here to listen.

Ughhhhhh I’m very very stressed about my classes for next year. It’s my last year of high school!!! Ive gotta make it count!!! But also I have a lot of credits I still need to do. And I’m kinda hungry?

So here is a small poem about my current frustrations.

I hate school a little bit

I wish I could just stay home and learn how to knit.

Maybe I could become a pre-mature grandparent,

Complete with embroidery floss and loneliness.

I love learning, but why on earth does it need to be so standardized?

I need a nap just thinking about the homework I’ll have next fall.

Now, it is time for tortellini. Please be ready soon.

Things are changing a lot right now. I’m scared of what’s happening and I’m scared of who the future will be.

But of course there’s always that something inside of me.

It says, “It will work out,” it reminds me of all the times I truly beat my own doubts.

I’m worried for the future, but you’re worried for me.

Don’t be.

You’re moving on to a new part of your life, and of course I am too, but not in the same way as you.

I feel distracted and tired and like I could talk to you for hours and still not feel at peace.

We’re different- in inverse directions.

Don’t you see how they’re still surprised by me?

But what if I get lost in the end and everything makes less and less sense than it ever did.

What if I’m left on the curb with nothing to learn and everything to lose.

What if I stopped breathing again? I don’t intend to.

But I’m starting to tremble.

What if the spiral is too deep this time? What if it’s a whirl pool?

What if I just don’t want to tell anyone that.. I’m stuck.

Maybe I don’t want to know how this story plays out, maybe I’ll break myself apart again.

I look exactly like the type of kid this would happen to.

You said so yourself.

I’m still breathing, I’m still eating ( sometimes too much, even), but it’s hard.

I feel it slipping away.

It’s hard to find the reason in going on another day.

But hey, I’m here.

For now.

Stand Still

I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of the world standing still.

It’s always, “go, go, go!“

But I’m sick of feeling like time is slipping through my fingers. I’m tired. I’m tired of chasing, or waiting, or hoping. Whatever this is.

I just want a second to stand still for hours- a type of break. Time that I don’t have to worry is running out.

Could you be there, too?

I’ve felt a million feelings, and I’ve learned a million different words to describe them, but its always this sand-through-the-sifter feeling. Eventually everything falls out and you just can’t keep track of it all.

Like the beautiful choir’s music, or the classroom dance party.

It’s all fading away.

Or the day we spent searching- the yellows, reds, greens and oranges I can hardly see anymore.

The night I held your hand for the first time, the song you sang hours before that, at the top of your lungs.

We were halfway there.

I really don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

It can’t be time for the leaves to fall from their branches.

Just… stay here.

Stay here.

If I could have just faded into the background- it all would have been quiet.

But, of course, part of me wanted to be heard, seen. Though, I would’ve rather died than say as much.

Being invisible is quiet, and cold and hallowing, and almost like a hug.

When being noticed, being held, being recognized and seen, is, in a way, forgiving.

And new.

That’s how we felt- me and you.

Still, the cold is familiar, safe and constant.

But the seat became empty, and for the first time, I didn’t want to be alone.

” Don’t put your happiness in other people’s hands.

They’ll drop it.

They’ll drop it every time.” – C. Barzak