I wonder if these people I pass in the hallways everyday remember.
Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it.
Do they remember the things I said to them?
Do they even remember my name?
If I remember it so vividly,
you’d think they’d remember at least a little.
But I guess not.
So to that girl who I gave all my secrets,
and to the boy who I told my best jokes,
and to all those people who I’ve talked to,
made memories with,
I remember you,
no matter how much you’ve forgotten me.
Wow, you really don't ******* care do you?
My skinny jeans will never be skinny enough,
just like how I can only wrap my fingers
around my wrists so many times,
How the lie "I'm not hungry"
is easier than actually eating,
and how my parents still thank me after I eat
the dinner that they made
and my brothers voice cracks every time
he asks me to "please eat lunch"
and still packs a snack in my bag.
I've been fighting to survive my entire life.
Just trying to stay alive
But I forgot the most important thing
surviving is not the same as living.
Wasting all my time fighting to survive when there are so many better things to fight for.
You can always tell when I've been crying,
No matter how hard I try and hide it,
My eyes almost always give me away.
She sits in class,
Her hair full of dry shampoo,
The dark circles under her eyes
seeping through her concealer.
Every class goes by slower than the one before
and its getting harder to pay attention.
She didn't sleep last night
but at least her math homework is done.
She doesn't remember the last time she ate,
But by now she doesn't really feel it.
Her phone sits full of unread texts,
invitations to things she wished she had time for.
But she doesn't have time for anything anymore.
Sleeping was supposed to be her escape,
but by the time 2am rolls around
she's still wide awake.
Why is that always the question?
I'll never understand why people see it like that,
Why would it matter whats inside the cup?
I guess everyone is supposed to judge whats on the inside,
instead of out,
Or at least thats what everyone says to do,
But I see it differently,
So when people ask me "is the cup half empty, or half full?"
Isn't it just a cup?
If ever a word I would be labeled with,
Untitled would be perfect.
Feeling ever so entitled to my uninspired opinions
Can my name be considered my title
when all its ever been used for is to call out,
is that what a title is?
Have I been mistitled all my years,
or does the title not define the person?
People define you by your title either way,
judging a book by its cover,
judging a person by their title,
judging a poem by the author.