high school student
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I see people everyday in New York. Each and everyone one of them has a story. Business suits rushing to get to a meeting. Construction workers drilling away. Cross guards whistling away.
Chalk dust Flakes from my fingers to my eyes, As I rub the to-dos into lashes And stare at the checkboxes for yesterday
Dear Pain, There are things that need to be said but the words always seem to run There are actions that ought to be taken but the rhythm seems undone The tears appears all dried up
My frigid hands grasped for something, Anything to survive. The black tar that covered my throat Soon welled around my eyes.
My guiding light, my friend, my paper and pen Growing up I haven't had a steady friend, a diary to confide in I don't ask for a response Just that someone listens to me
You used to feel tied up in string. And so you spun some of your own. I've loyally watched you in silence. And your web of lies has just grown. That Christmas, I went on Pinterest
Alas, Through the gentle haze Of the computer screen that separates I see thy perfect face. The quaft hair, Of fiery orange, Perfectly perched Atop thine head.
Who do you want to be? Half-truths, An uncomfortable smile, A fidget. Am I supposed to know? What do you want to do now? The question I've always yearned to hear-to answer.