It's Late

It's 11:21pm and I'm questioning. Questioning my availability to not only the world, but to myself. My eyes glazed with past faces that reigned my high school hallways. The realm conquered by the beauty and hormonal impulses of young. 

 It's 11:24pm and I'm constantly thinking of when I will peak. Was I not meant to strive like my classmates who obtained swift hair, flawless skin, beautiful bodies, and coherent communication skills used with the ones that made their bodies quiver? They were a sweet nectar, and I was a diluted sweetener in a glass of water that made me dissolve in seconds.  It's 11:29pm and it's late. My question leads to another thought provoking night. Another night where I curse the genes given to me by my parents. Another night were I question why he didn't like me. Another night where I wish I could dance as well as those girls in that Justin Bieber music video. Another night I lie awake, anxious because of my future affairs. Another night that I lie alone, with my thoughts; my thoughts are never alone with me.  It's 11:31pm. What becomes of me? It's 11:32pm. Was I meant to be ashamed of myself? It's 11:33pm. I don't like myself.  It's 11:34pm. But then I think I do... It's 11:35pm. What am I going to do with my life? It's 11:36pm. What am I going to eat tomorrow? 11:37pm 11:38pm 11:39pm 11:40pm  ...

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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