I stand up
and it goes black.

How can life
be absolutely everything,
yet white nothingness?

I scribble the pen in my hand,
my hand seizing
as it drags the tip across the whiteboard,
forming my name
in perfectly rounded cursive.

Scratching through it,
until I leave it blank
like it never happened.

I can change
the speeds,
but I will always increase
in time and distance.

A seemingly endless
track of rubber
energized by electricity,
worn out by the steps
I and those before me
have already made,

But I can choose
to get off
and stop.


I just haven't decided
how or when
I will get off.

I looked like I would pounce
Over the sidewalks I bounce

Making sure to avoid the cracks
Like they were sticky, hot wax

Or a never ending gaping hole
that would eat my soul

Or, like the rhyme says,
Break my mother's back in a ways

I would come so close
but I froze

I kept jumping
and never touching

Why did I never hit the crack
if I knew it would never attack

Why do I still never touch the crack
Why do I always keep myself back

From just walking without fear
When I can just be clear?

I am dead weight
to everyone around me.

Like coal,
I was a sizzling and crackling inferno,
until the only thing left
was a clump of
Burnt.
Used.
Lifeless.
Coal.

I burden other people
leaving marks
on those
I've barely touched.

I am everyone's coal.
The baggage everyone carries.
The trash thrown away.
The item disregarded, not worthy of living.
Not even given a chance to make a name of itself.
Burnt.
Used.
Lifeless.
Coal.

Recently,
I posted a picture
of my bare feet
walking in the rain
with the hashtag
numb.

The thing is that the picture got a few likes
but no one knew what the real message was
hidden behind my bare feet.

Home
has made me numb
to sadness,
the police,
true care
and generosity,
creating the facade that
blocks me from the world.

Boarding school
has made me numb
to grades,
fear,
anxiety,
slowly stacking the bricks
to complete my facade.

I would like to say
that something broke my facade
or took down some bricks,
but it only continues to build
so I end this poem in hope
that the weight off my chest
lifts at some point.
That the connections I lose to my facade
find their way back together.
That the relationships that drift away
can be replaced.
That the self doubt and self hatred
can be eliminated.
That the need to build a complete facade
has ceased.
But for now, I am stuck
in a constant
numbness.