Sadness pours out of me like a waterfall of tears.
Tranquility is something I'll never truly feel.
Sorry, I say; I mean it. I do.
But is sorry enough?
Worried people just feel bad for me.
Worried people always get sad because of me.
I'm worried that I'm not good enough.
Always worried, they will call me out on my bluff.
I sit in the darkness, staring up at the sky.
I sit in the darkness just so I can cry.
Screams fill my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
I look around just to find out that they're mine.
I tell myself constantly, "If you spend your whole life worrying, you won't get anywhere."
Yet that never helps. I always find a better reply, a better way to deny.
80 years later, I'm sitting on a dock, thinking back on all the things I did wrong, still worrying about the past and regretting the things I didn't do.
"But I guess soon it won't matter." I say as I stare up at the moon. So I'll get up and do what I can so at least part of my life wasn't spent laying in the sand trying to think of a plan.
YOU ARE READING
All's fair in love and poetry
PoetryHi! I just wanted to share some of my poems. I haven't been writing for very long so don't expect these to be awesome.
