I tried to write a book once
i titled it
Sparked,
but the plot was dull.
Ironic.
I tried to tell myself
I could write
I had some poems
and I thought too much,
Little did I know
I wasn’t close and
all I had were repeating lyrics
that filled my thoughts
and kept me up at night.
They were meaningless
I swear
I’d plan out speeches in my head
tell people what I think about
and why I didn’t try enough.
Excuses.
Every time it came to speak
I rumpled up
even though i’d memorized it
in my sleep.
I’d try to write it
but my meaning would hide
it was written behind the lines.
Jumbled metaphors and
tacky similes
became my family.
Not even they knew
that behind closed doors
was a feeling I couldn’t afford
I wasn’t adored.
School mattered more
I ate too much
and every one knew the class bore
“ it was you”
Assumptions
they blame me for
that which I haven’t done
they care for me?
none.
The poster child
on the thrown away copies.
I watch people step on
caterpillars
complain about the lack
of butterflies,
beauty.
It’s not what I see
it’s not what i’m called.
Different.
But not unique.
Age 15
but boys make me snore
no one gets that
so the topics quite sore.
I think if I rhyme
it’ll be less
serious
because i’m not.
Serious.
I’ll talk about the things
that hurt me most
nonchalantly
because I care too much.
I’d ignore the ones who knew me
for the ones I wanted to know.
Clingy,
to everything
but my own.
I was lost at sea
the captain of my ship
but not knowing
how to steer.
I guess I fell asleep
in that class.
Not that it mattered,
stranded on
land or water
I was already lost
I’ve already had
my fair share of
disasters,
but everything is worse
than this.
Everything is worse
than not having friends.
I’m a lucky one
invalidated in the least
but hey
I have food to eat.
I have a roof
and teachers who care more
about who  I can be
than who I was.
Than who I still am.
Potential.
Lacking in my eyes,
yet overflowing.
Students ask me for help
yet they have better grades.
Implies I don't apply myself.
True.
Denies to have the time
for help.
Pure apathy,
but still praying
for some empathy.
I’m sick from school
or sick of being there.
I go home
sleep until dusk
remind myself to brush off the dust
homework
not of essence
tell that to my
61 F
no effort.