No Filter

Wed, 02/18/2015 - 10:52 -- Misfit

“Who are you?”, they asked.

Well, I’m Kyra of course.

My name, meaning light, comes from Greek origin.

Or Latin.

I don’t quite remember.

But it’s a little contradictory, isn’t it?

I’ve never really been the most optimistic person.

And my skin color; well most wouldn’t really consider that light.

It has become one of the main reasons why I felt left out in my classes,

the hallways,

of a school located in a place I’m supposed to call my hometown.

I’m an anxious person.

Nothing is ever done the way I want it

Nothing is ever done fast enough

It can always be better.

But I’m also a fantastic procrastinator.

So I guess I’m a paradox in itself.

I’m a hypocrite.

I give fantastic advice that I can never take myself.

I can build you up twice as tall to make up for the piece of shit I believe myself to be.

Sometimes I fight with this voice in my head.

It’s like a different person

I refuse to give her a name though

Then she becomes real

Names make people real

Because without a name, you’re just flesh in a box taking up space

That’s harsh


I can never keep friends for too long.

Apparently I’m afraid of commitment.

I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse I like to tell myself.

I tell myself lots of excuses

I seem to like justifying why things don’t work out.

It helps keep the voice quiet.

And simply failing isn’t a good enough reason

Nothing is ever a good enough reason though

Regardless of what I do, you’re never actually satisfied

and I hate myself for letting it get this far,


I should really stop apologizing

Sometimes I get distracted

Sometimes my thoughts jumble together and fight for space in my head

And then the voice gets louder

And I can never judge which thought to let out so they come out all at once

I say things I don’t want to

But they’re there so they might as well come out right?

Basically I’m a typically teenager

With her share of fucked up problems and hatred for various parts of this world

I’m not much different than the rest of them

But the God I pray to says that I was created individually and perfect in his likeness

Or something like that.

Like I said, I’m not good at remembering things

I find that hard to believe sometimes

But it is what it is.

Oh great

Apparently I’ve gone in an entirely different direction than when I started

I don’t really know how to end this damned thing now

I’m not really good at ending things

Just add that to the list

This poem is about: 


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