Yes, I am fifteen years old.
No, I don’t think I’ve ever
been in love.
Or, okay. Let me rephrase.
I’ve never been in love with someone
within the premises of
a committed relationship.
Never been with someone
long enough for it to
progress
like that.
I sit alone most nights.
I go to coffee shops,
alone.
I read quite often.
Not invited to many parties.
Not many guys fancy me.
I have limited communication
with guys, actually.
I am emotionally desperate,
but it hides,
patiently waits,
until after the clock strikes twelve.
In the time
between the ticks
of that damned clock,
I smile and pretend I’m happy
with being alone.
Being alone isn’t necessarily a bad thing,
they tell me,
as they lean over
to kiss their significant other.
Pft, okay, right.
Let me apologize,
I thought you were actually going
to help me.
You need to find who you are
before you commit yourself
to someone else.
But, with every other person
locking lips with a gorgeous boy,
whispering sweet nothings,
being so in goddamn love
to ever even glance over
once in awhile,
I can admit I’m just a tad
distracted.
No, I don’t know what to do
about all these emotions
pulsating through me,
did you think I would?
Do you think I would be sitting
alone
lonely
broken
thinking I’m destined for a life
of recluse,
if I had a hold on the fire
raging on inside my veins?
If you do,
I don’t think we’ve met.
Hello,
my name is lonely.
And no,
I don’t care how you think you’re
doing.
No apologies.
YOU ARE READING
Teacups and Pens
PoetryA collection of poetry from my mind. Take from it what you will.
