To many adults, I’m nothing but the definition of wasted potential, rebellion, and stupidity. I don’t fit their timeline nor their expectations
My sluggishness and lack of energy keeping me at bay, ruining my chances while I put on a show for my peers.
Although who doesn’t love a good show
I put myself on a constant stage and create character after character until I get to the point where I’ve lost myself in the art.
I don't know who I am.
But I suppose that’s the age-old question,
Man pondering where he belongs.
I like to pretend I’m smart for coming to that conclusion and writing these poems when in reality I’m a walking cliche repeating overused phrases
I fit the stereotype to make myself feel valid,
yet act like I’m better than God himself.
I hate the world, I smear black on my eyes, I wear dark clothes and scream at nothing and everything.
I get hurt and blame it on everyone but myself,
yes, the sidewalk was the one who scraped my knee, but I’m the one who’s rubbing salt into it before it can heal.
I sleep in late and stay up until the sun rises above the Tetons, scolding me with bright rays through my window stinging my eyes.
I curse out at the world, I complain about everything while not doing much to fix it
I beat myself up and am merciless to the body that my soul resides in.
I cry and get upset over everything yet am empty, and completely and utterly numb.
I'm just your average, angsty teenage girl