I gave myself an F
I've never had an F in anything
a straight-A student they said
But I was just a stressed student
Stressed a lot
Stressed at home because
Enough work is never enough
To get that "A"
Stressed at school because
They never taught enough
To get that "A"
Stressed at lunch because
I have nothing to say
To people who get A's easily
Other than how I'm struggling
To cope with this overwhelming fear
That I won't get an "A".
And the overwhelming desire I have
To get that "A".
And the painful knowledge that
I could be having fun and I'm wasting my youth and perhaps my entire life worrying about a letter on a piece of paper
As if I'm only worth a bit of ink on paper
As if life is graded
Because although I have A's
If I were to grade my life
I would give myself an "F"
an old poem I wrote during school exams... inspired by the poem in the perks of being a wallflower
I'm waiting for the day I feel as alive
as I remember how I felt
when I realised
that behind everyone's eyes
is their own story and sadness
and family and happiness and goodness and badness
and we are connected and tied up in knots
entangled but some of them don't even touch

I'm waiting to feel that again, because ever since you last touched my skin
I can't see that little glint in my eyes
in the mirror that lets me know that
I'm getting by
and I'll be alright
because I'm here
and not dead and
I'm living again and
I'm swimming in thoughts
I can't kick past this tense
speed of current that's currently washing over me
stressing me
with unlikely
probabilities
that I'll fail
and I'll crash
and ill end up just trash
on the bathroom floor
with nothing more left to slash

How can I think like this?
is there nothing left
of the organ beating
inside of my chest?
Is it saddening me I'll spend most of my life
surrounded by people at the end of their lives?
Could be anyone
anyone at anytime
be a bus or a car
or a sip of wrong wine
could be her, could be him at the brink of the bridge,
could be family, friends
a mother with kids

I am waiting for me
to start thinking again
that each moment's a blessing,
not a thing to restrain,
not something I dread in the morning to wake to,
or something I try just to read too much into.

Get living!
I want to be living again.
If I've swallowed a nut, hand me my epipen,
If my throat closes up, insert adrenaline,
If I'm gasping for air, let me take it all in
I didn’t want to talk about this
It feels cliché
Like a muslim boy
telling his parents he’s gay

No I didn’t want to write about this
Its not okay
I feel overused
As a song; overplayed

But the truth is I need to
I need to address
Address is the same place
I do rest my head

And my head isn’t rested
I have 20 thoughts
Or more when I’m resting
I feel so contorted

The truth is I have issues
And really who doesn’t?
If you talked to a counsellor
Would you feel confident?

But today I met friends
Who are doing just fine
said I wasn’t jealous
And that was a lie

Because this isn’t fair
How you grew up like this
How your home is your home
And you always felt safe

It just isn’t fair
That I didn’t get that
That I didn’t get
Healthy and positive chat

I don’t mean to be bitter
I mean no disregard
to your life, but it’s strange
How shuffled the cards

It’s scary how scarred
A person can be
From events that occurred
Not so recently

How do I accept love
If it is not in my nature?
I was brought up by a
Suffering, cruel creature

Who pushed everyone away
And twisted my words
And laid hands on me
Didn’t let me be heard

Friend, how do you date
And feel so secure?
I’m clingy, they string me
It never endures

And how do you talk
And feel like you mean it?
Everything I say
I feel so defeated.

And how do you dress
And act so confidently?
I feel like a fraud
It shows prominently

And how do you travel
And explore the world?
The anxiety I feel
Makes me want to hurl

but I know we are different
I know I feel deep
I know I have issues
I know that they creep

Up on me and I fall
Into states of despair
And replay my past
Takes me months to repair

You’ve not been depressed
You’ve not seen all the things
That honestly make me
Question everything.

Maybe I shouldn’t compare
My entire life
To your different hardships
and dealing with life

I just wonder how different
I would have been
If my parents just cared
A bit more about me

I said it was cliché
it feels crap to write down
But honestly that’s
What’s getting me down

But I guess I must end
On a positive spin?
I wouldn’t be me
If it weren’t for them.

I wouldn’t be writing
I wouldn’t be sad
But you wouldn’t be reading
So, I am slightly glad
I don't like this poem, I feel like it is laced with self pity, but it's how I feel sometimes, so I had to write it down.
  Aug 7 thelemonpolice
Emily
why are all the poems
about loving someone else?
the one thing
everyone can do,
talking about it
like it's the hardest thing
you go through.
but I know
that's not the truth,
because the hardest thing
I went through
was learning how
to love me
instead of you.
I look back at my pictures
I look back at my friends
I look back to the people
I'm trying to mend  

I have a voice
I have a brain
and self doubt
in my veins

And if I look back enough
Maybe there's something I can change

Maybe If I plan ahead
And use whatever I've learnt
To path my road hereon out
Maybe I won't get as burnt

Maybe if I stop and think about
All I need to change
Then I will magically
Anxiously
advance in this game

But am I even a player
I didn't sign up for this
I didn't create my username
Or password
Or click

Who designed all these levels?
And who has made up these rules?
Maybe if I hack the interface
I'll show them all as fools

And no one really quite knows
What on earth is going on
And no amount of looking back or fourth
Will stop where you are.
You are you.
And I am me.
if I'm not enough
Please just leave me be
You'll always find
A lack within me
You'll always hate
What you can't be
And all these words
Relate to me
Relate to you
Like family
But you don't know
How much I do
Every day
all you see is you

And I wish I were simple
I wish I did less
I wish I could come home
And lie on my bed
But I have to be moving
It's a kind of stress
But I use it to motivate,
not get depressed
And I know explanations
Don't ever quite fit it
I am late, I am messy
For no obvious reasons
Maybe I can't pinpoint
Where I was in thought
Delirious messages
Translate too fast
I can think very clearly
I can't think at all
I have a million lists
Hanging on my wall
Priority one, two
How can you subject
My mind to choose
What I should do best
it's important to me
I'm passionate now
But it tires me greatly
I can't even bow
I can't accept praise
I'd rather your hate
But no that is wrong
I deserve something great
I keep telling myself
That the worst of it's over
But I think the worst part
Will continue moreover
Not specific things
A patient, a feeling
Collecting ideas
And thoughts
and breathing.
Next page