You mind if I vent to you about how I feel?
How I’ve been doing this whole time?
I can’t explain how sad I feel, like I’m crying my eyes out.
Questioning my own existence and it feels like I shouldn’t tell you.
It feels like I shouldn’t put my heart out there, unawaited and uninvited.
I’m tired of living this life, I’m tired of it all.
I am tired, I’m done of being tired.
The only thing I can do is vent to you or to the internet about me.

It was time. Tv went out, and in the process of my mom googling it, it turned into something else.
I wasn’t meant to go to her for help, it looks like I was meant to figure it out myself.
Give up the chains to my heart and figure it out all by myself.
I want to figure it out all by myself, but sometimes it feels like I need a helping hand.
As if I learned help was bad, tells me one thing..
Tells me I’m “stupid”, I don’t know what to say to that.
When it hurts me everytime, everytime I do something and I feel useless.

I didn’t ever let it get to my head, but I don’t feel like I am useless.
I know I’m not, but the world is dulling right now.
It’s not the tv that got me in my feels, it’s the way she talked to me.
The way she existed, it feels like she wasn’t meant to exist in my life.
Wasn’t meant to be in it, and I’ll be happy once her time is up.

I’ll be free I think and I’ll find my freedom.
Although who knows the chains are always glued to my feet, covered in glue.
Covered in words that mean nothing to me almost.
I can tell myself I feel useless, but I don’t feel it anymore.

I barely look at this as another truth comes out.
The teller hands you the book and it’s got AI written all over it.
Yeah I said it, meant it while it lasted.
Downfall held up high beyond the heads that look near the cage they sank.
They saw a case of my downfall, I don’t use my heart to write.
Out things I didn’t hear from to edit or change my words.

I wanted to be better, but they’d drown me like a caged animal.
Saw the papers on the desk covered with dark highlights.
I knew I was lying to myself, but I don’t use AI to write AI to be AI.
That sounded mad as I barely commit myself to a better life.
A hook on the shelf wasn’t the same mind that borrowed the pen under pressure.

In school they tell you to not use AI.
They barely say it with a coldness under their breath.
The pans awakened and now I’m the one watching the news.
Now I’m the teaching behind the teacher.
Beyond the pilot or judge that defended their lives for years.
They say it, they end up using it to.

Metal plates behind their back.
Chair detector, a desk infront of a desk.
No place to cheat, but I don’t use it for poems.
I don’t use it for a place in my mind.
Sometimes one can’t even admit their stuck.
I admit they don’t admit mines.
They call a teller and they tell the truth instantly.

Why watch politics when I could watch the world go ahead..
Stand by the wall and the police look at you as if you are them.
Call your name down one by one, they called for AI.
Don’t tell them why.

Caught the lack of thinking or engagement.
No understanding, just bitterness written from the plate.
I laugh in silence as I play along with her words tricking her like I understand her.
I pull the rug from your feet and now you call this generation “weak”
Your opinions have no value to me, as I think this generation is uncovering what other generations haven’t.
It doesn’t disguise me for my lack of language making it all about you.
Is that so telling?

Why so act so stupid?
When you thought you gathered up wisdom that turned into advice I wouldn’t consider.
“I’m so worried about your attitude”
Never considered a day in my life how I act towards other people at school.
Projecting your own fears and expectations, like beams you can’t control.
Some parents can barely get down into the depth when they bare punching the surface level.

I’m not impressed or surprised.
You just confirmed my thoughts about you.
You need to check yourself, instead of acting so self-aware if you can’t see a bald eagle soaring..
If my eyes awake, I don’t see a thing, but so bridgeless humans that don’t see below.
Called me “too emotional over the little things” go back and you tell me “I’m not calling you weak over crying.”
I’m sorry, but not sorry you **** at your parenting job.
Almost the idea of rotten with you is disgusting, how you think me and you are the same person.

Watch me write a poem every phrase you say.
Oh yeah you think I’m angry or crying at this, but you never ask.
Just assume I’m being dramatic, which is it you don’t call it how it is.
Why you lying to yourself?
Is this why people push themselves to the creator, artists, director, writer, author, or other roles?
To be seen, to tell their story, to be heard by those that took them for granted.

I don’t know, but I realized some people in this generation definitely have some type of something.
Something like emotional awareness and high self-awareness sometimes high empathy.
Where is that at huh?
You don’t see it then you’re blind.
If you can’t name it, then get your eyes checked.

Can ye heard me?
The profound words aren’t profound anymore.
Take the word, ‘writing’ for granted..
I was writing to be free from survival..
To face what I didn’t face in real time.
To give opinions on things that didn’t matter much.
It didn’t even happen.. I didn’t bear the weight as the usual people do.

Sometimes I walk down the road and the light in the morning shine while the cold didn’t.
It left the darkness from the house to the world, the front exterior tied to a mask.
I like wearing a mask to hide one’s identity.
Rather just pretend I don’t see under the surface, like I don’t catch a thing underneath..
I don’t live to write what I have to say.. I don’t write, like the bones and skulls aligned with the personality..
I don’t write like anything or anybody as much as the soul crawls to the next individual in front..
I don’t exist to write for joy.. for happiness.. that is existential, but it’s mere existence is gone..
It’s lost and forgotten under the glass windows it hid under.

I don’t show up for happiness..
To be happy with the way I write..
To be productive..
To be foreshadowed by one’s expectations and assumptions.
I consumed those words, but they did nothing to me..
I have joy, but joy is empty to me.
To have joy is to not exist.
To celebrate is to turn down opportunities in their own ways.
I am empty for the epidemic of survival.. I am not to overcome..

I like being in boxes that don’t fit me.
The type of boxes that weaken under pressure.
The type of boxes that become something else..
I have nothing to say, nothing to show you..
Nothing to become, if one has to hide themselves.. it’s easier said than done isn’t it?
No need to answer the question it will follow through in the end..

I question the pond if you see the same reflection..
The same appreciation, the same thought all ******* in one piece.
One place, one mystery.. I’m curious about you, but I digress.
How do you know I am a deep thinker?
How does one know I’m not faking it?
The way I just see the gift you hold and the way your intentions move through the spirit of your eyes.
I noticed a lot..
A lot of stuff, but I don’t say it out loud.
To me you are something, but I can’t describe it.
I can only erase it, it seems.

Erase the noise and fill the void.
I never heard of such words attached to a flower before.
Attached to space within when I barely noticed my own.
The pain carried inside and page of the paper I hold torn as the soul of my very own.
I don’t exist.. Do I exist to you somehow?
Do I stand on my own two feet?
Do I matter to you somehow.
I’m questioning if this is real or not, if I’m seeing things.
I would rather be a crow, a bird instead of a human..

I rather look at the world and look at it as an outsider.
A ghost, a skeleton, a poet, but you keep pulling me back into this picture of being seen.
I don’t understand, yet I grapple with the idea of being heard.
It doesn’t make any sense to me, I’m just confused with the way I hold things.
The way I matter to you it’s all confusing and scary.
Sometimes I block out the noises, but they keep coming back..
I block out my heart for you, but it lands on that day..
That one day.. where I gave you a card and we laughed together..
It was something new and I didn’t know how much I would mean to you later on.
How mutual this whole thing..

I’m so confused..
The darkness from the water is filled with rain..
The same rain that drowned me in the car, cried in a river.
Get the ****** tools and make nothing out of it..
Call me by my name, but I don’t see you.
Sometimes I look forward to seeing you, as you interest me.
I don’t say anything because my mind doesn’t have an ending of thoughts.
The layers are cold, but nothing is broken.

I’m sorry to pretend I was profoundly okay.
That I sat there in the car not wanting to face the day.
That I stood there in the awake of your eyes not speaking nor listening.
My head was in a breeze awakening by the fire I breathe..
The taste of pages runs deep, but I am not deep.
I’m not the one suffering under a tunnel of bricks in the darkness to be suffice.
To be sacred in the darkness.
I am a tunnel vision of my own self..

To experience such a soul in their own loops of thinking.
I am not one to think about or dream.
To carve the vision that I’ll do great things one day.
To become something I’m not under the illusion that falls into delusion..
I am many, but not my own existence that carries its own truth.
The truth lies inside of you, but it won’t break loose.
If the string is broken and loose itself loses its own grip overtime.

To fade away from a world is rather painful.
I slipped into my own pain from the chair that gave me hope.
Just like writing this gave me a voice to shadow the ones that slip into nightmares.
I am a soul with wounds.. that’s a thought I wouldn’t bare to say out loud..
To speak the truths that long and wonder around my very soul.

Sometimes on some days I look at you as a human being.
Not because I don’t see it, it’s because your influence on me is strong.
You inspired me to think deeply and see the world differently..
Now I’m at the height of high levels of self-awareness and I’m aware of my cognitive abilities.
Yet I can feel the way that middle ground freezes up and the way my feelings become dull as a brick.
If it’s how cold I am, maybe my attitude won’t change and don’t need changing.

I don’t need a fix, if you hear that I don’t need such a thing.
I’m a soul trying to understand your true intentions and your thoughts.
It feels as if you are taking the way I slide underneath the assignment to your framework.
Is how I sit there and look at the possibilities that you barely or might not consider.
I’m met with deflect or dismissal.
Maybe I don’t understand, but it feels like it’s aimed towards me.
I’m trying to be serious and real remember that because when the concept of connections are asked..
When it is asked I won’t know what it is you want me to say or reach for when I’ve been cut down.
It was accepted and now I’m cut off, like a broken door.

I understand you're a human.
I didn’t say I didn’t understand.
I didn’t say I didn’t understand your intentions.
I didn’t say I don’t understand all of that.
You give me a fix, sure I accepted it but I don’t all at the same time.
Don’t reduce the way I think to a block.
To a tower of impossible.
To a cold bed of unimportance.
I’m barely sorry you might take that as a different thing.
I’m not avoiding work, no.
I may be the only one talking about it, sure.

That doesn’t mean I’m setting it aside.
I’m trying to understand why your framework doesn’t suddenly connect with me.
Like it used to, I’m no longer a quiet paper.
I’m trying to speak even if you bare to hear me.
Yet I don’t think your help is helping me.
I didn’t need a fix or solution.
It didn’t need to be quick to hand me out of the way.
I just feel ignored, like a pencil is on a desk.
Where I land is nowhere, but the time I don’t give in to you is nowhere too.
It is nowhere because I went nowhere. Part of you lost me I think.
I just think because I think I’m not assuming sometimes teachers are like this too.