I’m the smart one,
They always say.
But I can’t spell February
Without whispering it under my breath.
It takes me five minutes.
To spell a word
And a whole day
to spell out what I need.
I don’t know how to do my taxes.
But I know how to call the pharmacy.
I know how to sit beside red,
Old and stubborn,
And blue,
Young and breaking.
I know how to translate pain
Into prescriptions,
How to smile when I want to scream
Into a pillowcase.
I’m only 21.
I want to kiss someone
because I like them,
Not because I’m running out of time.
I want to be drunk in a parking lot,
Laughing about nothing.
I want to have a boyfriend
And forget to text him back.
I want to dye my hair and regret it.
But they need me.
They say they’re fine—
But it’s 102 degrees inside
And I’m sticking to the floor.
If I stop moving,
I might melt.
I might disappear.
There’s only one of me.
I was supposed to be the baby.
Now I baby everyone else.
I rock the house to sleep
With grocery lists and gas bills.
No lullabies, just stopping an argument
No cartoons, just stopping a meltdown
I want
A life where I can be
Irresponsible.
Where I can be loud,
Messy, wrong.
Where I don’t have to be
Strong
To be loved.
I want a life that doesn’t only begin
After everyone else’s ends.
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 10:41 PM UTC
It’s been over 24 hours since I heard a ping from him—
Or at least that’s what my mind tells me.
I know he works a lot.
But it’s been weeks since we really seen each other.
Does he care?
He calls me babe.
He sends me cat memes.
He says he misses me.
Did I mess something up?
I text.
An hour goes by.
My mind whispers: This is all a waste.
I almost end it.
But I don’t want to.
I want to see him again—
Kiss him,
Hug him,
Talk to him.
Tell him the things he needs to know.
About me.
Ping.
It stops.
I’m not overthinking anymore.
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC