never thought i'd make it this far.
so much has happened that has led up to this moment and
i'm
Terrified.
i've been broken, withered down, taped back together and even healed.
the emotional roller coaster that has been brought before me will be ending and next year,
i will be
Free.

I was an outcast
in school
nobody liked me
I had no friends
noone to talk to
noone to share my experiences with
noone to understand me
noone to learn from
noone to help me
I was alone
and lonely
and sad.

Now, reflecting on my memories
of my outcast loneliness
I am relieved from my trauma
by expressing to myself my lonely sadness
as I’m doing in this poem,
and reminding myself that my school-days are in the past
and re-focusing on being in the present-moment
and striving for my joy and happiness.

I find myself paddling against the current.

Those ahead ask why I am falling behind.
Those behind don’t see how every stroke wears me down.

It takes everything I have just to stay afloat.
"We began this race after you and have already overtaken you, how pathetic."

I want to give up.
"You have to keep going, you’ve already made it so much farther than us!"

I want to be better.
"Then BE better."

I don’t have the strength.
"You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t strong!"

I worry the current is stronger than I am.
"It is no stronger than ours surely."

My canoe strains against the pressure.
"Your canoe is a GIFT, you mustn't waste it!"

I close my eyes for the briefest of spells, try to steal just a moment of rest.
As I reopen them… I realise that it’s gone.
My goal. What was my goal again?

I have been paddling in this current so long...
Where was I going again?

All I remember is the agony of each stroke,
The words of condemnation for my failures
The presupposition of my achievements.

"You’re a disappointment, you should give up."
"If you give up, you will be a disappointment."

"You’re not good enough to be here."
"You’re too good not to be there."

"Look at your failures!"
"Focus on your accomplishments!"

My canoe breaks, and I am plunged into the icy waters of uncertainty.
I have forgotten what my own voice sounds like.
I need to hear it.
I open my mouth to remind myself, but nothing comes out.
Instead, the current consumes me; inside and out.
What could have been and what could never be are gone.

I am gone.

When I was at university
the standard used to judge
my essay
was “is it knowledgeable and sophisticated
in its use of concepts”,
and so I did my best
writing essays
to display my knowledge
of what authorities said
in a sophisticated way
like a DJ samples famous songs;

Now that I’m wiser
I realise
knowledgeable-sophistication
is not the wisdom
I need to achieve my joy and happiness,
and reading authoritative texts
and writing knowledgably-sophisticated essays
is a waste of my time,
and my time would be better spent
doing philosophy on my own experiences
to achieve the wisdom
I need to achieve my joy and happiness.

I step through the door
of the place which feels
more like home than my house

My ears fill
with sounds of drumsticks on drums
mallets on marimbas

My eyes fall upon flutes, clarinets
trumpets and tubas

I look up at my family
none of which are related to me
yet they
make
this
place
home.

i thought of how it's going to be my final year in high school,
senior year,
year 12,
fourth year in high school,
the final year.

and i begin to remember how every time you came home after school and cried on the porch outside.
i heard your cries from the living room.
i remember you telling me everything that happened,
good and bad,
mostly bad.

it made me afraid of high school.
it made me afraid of my senior year.
i don't really remember your smile during that year when it came to school.
i don't want to fill your shoes.
i'm already an anxious person already,
i don't want to be afraid of the year that scares me the most.

don't tell me                           don't tell me
all the things                          what was said
they whispered                      behind cupped hands
in the dark                              in the hallways

Don't tell me of their dark whispering words of hurt