you know, nothing new

An absolutely brilliant example of angst poetry at its best, from the Young Writers Project.

You Know, Nothing New

by McWriter

Nine times out of ten, I will choose

loneliness. I will choose to sit

in a room

by myself


because to know me

is dangerous.


My hands are cold enough

to burn through the walls that protect


And I know how fragile those can be.

I shrink myself when I feel

eyes searching, gazing

begging me

to be to fight to

react to love to pretend

to exist.

I am only brave

when no one can tell.


I know how to conduct myself

only when it matters

to everyone else.

My insides are empty – but not

in a hollow kind of way – no, it’s more

that they are


of nothing.


[And that’s fine.]


I wish I could say

that I look around me

and everything I see is

beautiful and heartbreaking

and that her lips make



out of what is really nothing.


I look around me and

all I see

are the things that move time


more quickly

as I remain


in a state of unnoticed panic.


Sticks and stones

are nothing. My body

refuses to bruise

and I can never


if that is somehow a reflection

of the


I can no longer access.


I am not sad. I do not

ache for

warm, whispered comfort on

the goose-bumped skin of

my neck

or long for someone

to love

when the moon casts

torturous shadows

on the empty side of my bed.


[I lie more often than I can justify.]

2 thoughts on “you know, nothing new

  1. That was raw and lovely.

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