i hung up the phone and spun my head in a clockwise manner, lifting my hand to my forehead, so i could scope you out from the floating bodies chilling on the streets of paris. my pulse kicked loudly against my skin while my heart tried to break free from the walls confining it to the cavity over my left breast.
my thoughts are competing with one another in a race to see which of the more irrational ones can make it to the finish line first and convince me that the gaping black hole inside my chest is out to engulf me and trap me in the darkness for the rest of my life.
the air reeks of pubescent, teenage hormones and i’m a total outsider because the prefix “teen-” is no longer a part of my vocabulary. sometimes i wonder if i got ahead of myself and what i got myself into, thinking that this was a bigger deal than it actually is. but
back to the room.
seeing these smiling young faces, hopeful with dreams and ambitions about college makes me reminisce about the times i spent in this building last year: all the struggles i went through, the classes i took and how much i took for granted what was handed to me. i realize now that
i want to relive the past, that
i’m stuck and pushing myself back to
a place i don’t belong—somewhere i shouldn’t be. it’s time for
real ”grown-up” things now, not the things i considered to be adult at the age of 15. but what can i do if i feel like i’m not ready? it’s already a miracle that i pushed myself this far, but now
there’s no more time for games and recess. all of that stopped
the day i got my diploma.
(a/n: that’s my creative brain. the person on the bottom is a therapist — probably the voice in my head — asking me to “tell me about your problems…” and the thing that looks like a sheep/ovaries is my brain spilling its contents/my emotions out onto pieces of paper, that become poems.)