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

hearts.

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

full

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

fucking

poetry

out of what is really nothing.

 

I look around me and

all I see

are the things that move time

around

more quickly

as I remain

motionless

in a state of unnoticed panic.

 

Sticks and stones

are nothing. My body

refuses to bruise

and I can never

tell

if that is somehow a reflection

of the

me

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.]

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2 thoughts on “you know, nothing new

  1. That was raw and lovely.

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