You know
One time
I was asked
Do you blank?
All I could think of
Was walking
Down the plank
Of a ship
Of an indeterminate
Pressure.
But when I open that pressure
And relieve that odd attachment
Of my body
I'm left as blank
As the question I was asked.
I ask the other person:
Do YOU blank?
Do YOU blank?
Do
YOU
Blank?
They reply:
Of course.
No.
And yes.
But does that make me bad?
Now I don't know whether or not
They're bad
Sad,
Dysfunctional
Or mad.
But
What I do know,
Is that looking
In that
Mirror,
They look just as confused
About the pressure
I just placed on
Them
As I do
About the
Pressure
They placed on
Me.
What you do
Is not who you are
What you choose
Is not your heart.
But I know
That when I decide
To derive
That
Exponential equation
That is my life
I still get me.
And I know this is
Confusing
To you.
But life
Of a teen
Will be forever
Changing.
And
Confusing.
So when it
Made sense
To you,
It was you,
It wasn't me.
If it doesn't
Make sense
Now,
Then it never will
Be.
Because individuals
Fight.
I
Fight.
To figure out
Who they are.
Who I
Am.
And when those
Sticks
And stones
Are thrown
As
Metaphorical diction
In a syntax
That I have yet to
Decipher,
I still find it
To hurt,
And so do you,
Pitcher.
Although
I may not
Be ready
To bat,
I see that
The only person
Who's pitching
Will mean anything
Is the one
Who looks back
At me
In the mirror.
Do you blank?
Does it matter?
Because
Whether
I blank
Or you
Blank
It isn't yours
To tell.
It's mine
To tell,
To feel
What,
To a teenager,
Is an
Apocalyptic
Repercussion,
To kiss the ground
When I've
Made it
To an end
That
Is so
Beautiful
And yet
So terrifying.
Judge not
One
Another
What you
Cannot
Judge
Yourself.
Ask YOUR self:
Do you blank.