I don’t write to get called good
I write to be understood
Do you understand?
I don’t write for petty praise
That would be a waste of my days
My poems are my own extended hand
I just want people to see
What it’s like to be me
And who I really am
Though my poems are called “good”
I am still misunderstood
When will somebody understand?
I said I’d love you as long as my hair was brown...
I dyed my hair today
That day quarantine started
We were supposed to meet
Instead it’s been a month
Since we’ve seen each other again
The question is...
Do you care?
The answer? Probably not.
I want life to go back to normal
But was normal life really that great?
I mean. Before quarantine I was crying into my pillow a lot. After quarantine I’m STILL crying into my pillow a lot. So I don’t see how one is better
My mind is like a Rubik’s cube
It’s all scrambled up
And only a few people can solve it
I am not one of them
I sit alone
In the dark
Because I’m SO lonely
And it all seems like a bad dream
Or like a story I read somewhere
Where everything turns out fine
But right here
In this moment
When did it get this bad again?
My heart is hurting
But my brain says “don’t bug people”
So y’all get to hear about it instead