am i depressed or is this just teenage angst?
tell me please, i'd like to know.
why i feel so alone in a room of those who say they love and care about me.
in a beautifully corrupt world,
i am fortunate enough to have a home
and food that makes my stomach smile.
between the four walls of my room,
they know my deepest secrets, fears, desires.
blue- the tears of nightfall,
the screams of insecurities as i tuck myself further and further
into my bedsheets hoping to hermit from the world.
the early morning sunrise,
the aesthetic light
seeping into my room on weekends
tapping my shoulder and crying as i go through the day,
not living manually but
through auto pilot.
the bookcase- memories of my life,
books that gave me unreal expectations of miracles and saving myself from a hole of self pity.
the pointe shoes that hold my body weight.
my body that is changing too often then i can handle. the reminder of the bipolarity
within my soul towards
my outward appearance.
the clothes- the clothes i wear,
the same outfits,
over and over again.
the clothes i change into,
that dictate whether i look
'too old' 'too bland' 'too try-hard' 'too tired.'
my desk- the desk i use as a vanity.
where i decide and slap makeup on my face
like peanut butter on a piece of bread.
i look at my eyes through my lit up mirror
and find emptiness
through the layers of mascara that ever so slightly lifts my eyes.
my eyes that can't deny how tired i am, how exhausted i am of everything.
also, where i take off my makeup,
scrape off the beautiful lies i wear on my face
as i walk through my day.
the pictures- reminders of people i have grown to
love, know, and disappoint.
the people i want to give the world to
yet am only able to give them a sliver of the ocean.
yet as i lie in bed,
at the end of every night,
my mind halts before i sleep,
switching the gear to 'reverse'
as i try to U-turn out of a
one way street
to my biggest insecurities.
these long nights that im left
thinking about
why i am the way i am?
the criticizing and analyzing of every small crevice
of my personality and every minimal crack in my body.
and how it's my fault.
for i hold the leash to if i win the game of life.
how it shows the next day,
in my eyes,
and in the worries of
anyone who's ever known me happy.
how much i would give to feel free, to feel bliss in my heart.
how much i would give to leave, to leave this whole life behind.
how much i would give to know, know what it'll take besides time and 'care.'
how much i would give to live, live again.
but this teenage angst is holding me hostage,
the lost motivation for hopeless dreams.
this teenage angst is making me feel worse,
the spiral staircase to a defined end.
this teenage angst...
-m
