i am turning fifteen in a month and i have never done anything worth writing a poem about
i am awake night after night crying about the same words
about 'alone' and 'him' and 'high school' and 'the future'
but none of those things can keep a story going, none of them can form thoughts that make people feel things
there are so many words, and so many combinations of them that make me want to fall in love
real love, not this ******* lust that i feel for ideas of people that i make up in my head
i want to leave a legacy but i don't even know how to live a life that anyone would ever care about
i want to make art but i don't know what to do because i care so much about what people think
so i settle for staying up late and sleeping in late and staying home every weekend
i want to eat chinese food in front of the tv and climb to the roof and kiss a boy
i want to bury my toes in the sand and blast the music in a car and spend the night in someone's arms
but i don't know how and i'm scared and i'm not pretty or skinny or outgoing enough
it comes down to not being good enough or talented enough or strong enough
i've spent almost fifteen years not being good enough but everyone has told me to be myself
so i guess i'll spend another fifteen the same way