I sit here in discomfort,
and read poetry out loud to
no one,
just because it feels like talking,
to someone.
And I am eating my dinner
of chicken nuggets made in
the convection oven.
Everything is a mess,
he got no help from the hospital,
which was to be expected.
Those doctors in their white coats,
and pink scrubs,
who wear even whiter shoes,
don't care about your pain,
even if you have the money
to waste eight hours of your life
in their useless rooms.
And I am sitting between a rock
and a hard place,
because making life decisions are
going to be the death of me.
Maybe it's because change has
always been the root of everything
that's made me unhappy:
although I know it's unavoidable.
Life changes every day,
even if it's just the weather,
or the length of your hair.
If only someone could teach me
to not be afraid of the one thing
I can't run from in life.

There was a girl.
A girl I once  knew
who never felt cold.
Never felt cold when
taking a shower in
freezing water.
Never felt cold
when she would stand
at the bus stop in 6
degree weather with barely
anything on. Never felt
the slightest bit of cold
even when she layed down
in the snow for 5 hours.
In fact, she loved the cold.
She embraced it; she loved how
cold the winter was in
Michigan. She loved feeling
the icy wind hit her face and
body when she wasn't wearing
much. She loved the
way it made her hands and face feel
anesthetic . It made her feel alive, refreshed
even, and
that’s all she ever craved for.
But she still never
felt how cold it actually was.
But why?
Why did she love
it that much?
Why couldn't she ever
feel frigid like everyone else?
Why love something,
something  you cant really feel?
Because even though she couldn't
feel how shivery cold
it was on the outside,
maybe that’s how her heart
was. Maybe that’s how
she felt on the inside.
**Numbing cold.