Going_North_cal

rare post. rarer poem. one am. i’m really tired and really done with everything.

it’s so strange

i’ve so many people to text.

i’ve so many friends to talk to.

and yet,

when mother moon and her children the stars,

shine with a mellow light,

it’s the loneliest i’ve ever been.

the lowest i’ve ever been.

and i don’t want to be here.

the one person who i thought loved me like no one else,

doesn’t. and probably didn’t.

she’s taken my heart and my love, torn it into tiny pieces,

and flung it up to the stars.

and i can’t reach the stars.

so i’ve no way to rebuild my heart.

and i don’t want to be here.

a million things are wrong with me.

it’s hard to eat.

it’s hard to work.

i’m exhausted. i’m exhausted. i am exhausted.

i can only keep the mask on my face for so long,

and it’s slowly starting to crack.

and i don’t want to be here.

if the mask breaks, i’ve no way to come back.

if the mask breaks…

what will i do.

where will i go.

who will i be.

who will leave.

and i don’t want to be here.

here where i’m happy and sad, together.

here where i’m loved by my family and hated by myself,

here where i screw up everyday,

here where i only want to lay in my bed and not move until there’s mushrooms in my hair and a forest by the door.

i saw the ocean, once. the ocean was beautiful.

vast, open, large and deep. 

when i fell for her,

i saw that ocean in her eyes. i was drowning in it, and i wanted to be nowhere else.

i should’ve realized i was drowning.

because now, i can’t see the ocean.

i can’t see the spring leaves.

i can’t see the sunflowers.

i can’t see the bluejays, the ravens, the crows.

not without seeing her.

and i don’t want to be here.

because i’m exhausted. i’m exhausted. i am exhausted.