simulation swarm

Things are supposed to move forward but somehow I’m going backwards. yesterday i turned 15 but my shoes are starting to feel tighter, outgrowing my memories and dreams.

I’m losing myself in between what is and what could be. Wishing for a new day, and when that day comes I’ll stand quiet wishing for a day when the new day’s already there. How come I’m so bitter, deep down I know it’ll never be enough, and I have to justify my every thoughts. But I’m not on my death bed, nor am I starving to death, yet somehow, I cant help staring at myself until I’m full of hatred and anger, everything inside me is screaming to be more. Telling myself I should change and reach for more, something bigger. I hear them yell, scream, thinking of me worthy enough to be the person who’ll make a difference, pointing out how much I’ve wasted and how much I keep losing. I need to turn things around. But I’ve turned inconsistent and lazy and I’m never really there and every night before I go sleep on a pile of clothes I’ve yet to put away, I lay in a corner of my room and smoke my shame away. And the worse in all that, before all the growing shame and the feeling of having lost myself  is that I’ve lost the taste for my own writing, it feels as lazy as the stupid pile of clothes I’ve yet to put away and as meaningless as the nicotine from the fucking cigarette I smoke every night but once again when I close my eyes I’m not really there and my writing is good again.

lord knows how much I gave up for my art, my mouth spilling your name like ink despite you no longer being there, filing the air. I’m a deadbeat poet who’ll soon grieve her own loss, blowing on her 20th candle.

I’m 20 and my shoes are feeling bigger.