Honestly
I'm more exhausted than I think I ought to be

I've lived not even eighteen years
But my soul says it's been eighty

Relaxation is foreign to me
Sleep? 'tis but a memory
I zone out constantly
Can't even eat properly

But hey, I have a shot to be
A decent poetry prodigy
At least, technically
If I can think coherently

But honestly
I'm more faulty than I think I ought to be

In reality
I'm nothing but a fallacy

You proud of me?

h.f.m.