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tired
April 11, 2017
I stand facing my smudged mirror.
But I can’t even meet my own eyes.
See, that’s the thing, I wish I could take a joke.
I would look at you and laugh,
but somehow all I felt was keen blades piercing my stomach.
Talking was supposed to help wasn’t it?
“It’s just high school. You’re just sad. Maybe if you hadn’t”?
“Don’t let it get to you”, but how can I not?
I feel each word bury itself into my skin and seep
into my bones.
I hurt in the day, but I ache in the night.
All I wanted was the warmth of you, but now it’s just too
cold.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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