Shitty Poems

a long, long time

I think it's gonna be a long, long time

A long time till the sun comes up again

It always does. It always does

I'm always told. But it always takes forever

It always waits until I'm ready to accept

That nothing changes and nothing will.

It always waits until I'm about to stop

About to stop trying, swimming upstream.

I think it's gonna be a long, long time.

And yet time passes strangely,

I've thought the day away but the first hour

Stretched on until numbness greeted me

And I welcomed it with open arms.

I know the sun is hiding, waiting

Waiting behind the overcast clouds

But I know some people aren't.

When the clouds part they won't be there

They're not here. Not waiting. Not returning.

Missing someone makes the past look so much
prettier.
Where are you? Where are you now?

For one, at first I counted my blessings,

Then I counted feuds, then days, weeks,

Months and tears. And then regrets.

For another, I counted years, stories,

Fantasies and of course, regrets.

Another, I don't miss. It was so close though.

I counted hours, words, many many tears.

Then days, a week, I counted prayers

And then the sun came out.

For the latest, I counted weeks, then days,

Days, days, days. Then regrets and tears.

Has the sun come out yet?

I hear jovial tunes and laughter

But it just reminds me of her and her smile,

his smile and the smile I never saw.

Why are these called mood swings?

Swings glide through the air pleasantly

And remind you of laughter and young friends.

This is not swinging.

This is holding onto a thing rope of stability

While something or someone -

Which and who is different each time -

Is throwing and thrashing it around for
amusement

Not knowing or possibly not caring about the

person hanging onto the other end.

Why is this called bipolar?

It can't just be me who thinks that description
is unfitting, can it?

Surely everyone or at least my sister or mother or someone has thought it too?

There's not just two directions the person at the other end of the rope can throw me.

There's too many to count.

A thousand shades of joy or sadness or anger
can't just blend into one colour.

Can't I just hang here peacefully?

Will cutting the rope rid me of just this

Or will it rid me of too much?

Will I fall too far?

You gotta die sometime.

But perhaps sometime is not now.

Sometime the sun will come out

But that sometime is also not now.

I think it's gonna be a long, long time.

A.N. I'm having a shitty day so I listened to one of my sad playlists (I can't do this from the English version of R et J played D: ) and then despacito came on.