I open my eyes to the unforgivingly intense light.
The taunting melody of that incessant alarm
Reverberates through my senses.
Flooding me.
How I wish I could scream at it.
Taunt it right back.
Hit it off the white dresser at my bedside.
And engulf myself once more
In the warmth of the pink cotton sheets.
But I can't find the strength to move my body.
For a good five minutes, I stare, dead-eyed, at the ceiling.
I can't even go back to sleep anymore.
How easy it would have been to do that just a few weeks ago.
But I can't.
So I summon an ounce of strength
And lift myself up
Unbothered by the draft of bitterly cold air I exposed myself to.
I'm not hungry.
I don't want breakfast.
That's too much food.
Too much sugar.
Too many calories.
So I find myself skipping breakfast yet again.
I don't feel like changing
But I have places to be.
I don't care about looking nice
But I don't want to raise suspicion.
Everyone knows me
As the bubbly, playful, talkative airhead.
I hate that.
But I guess it's my fault.
Because that's the version of me that I decided to create.
The version of me that I chose to present to the world.
I hate this stupid mask.
But I'd rather wear it than let everybody know . . .
How awful and pathetic I really am on the inside.
YOU ARE READING
~|:|~Poems~|:|~
PoetryJust a few poems I put together throughout quarantine because I had nothing better to do with my life. Quick warning, some of these deal with dark themes and mental illnesses, such as suicide and self-harm. If you are sensitive to these sorts of top...
