Writing

Alone. 

The static feeling of loneliness 

Being surrounded 

People everywhere

And yet 

I am trapped 

It’s as if I am just a shell 

Inside 

I am screaming

Jumping 

Clawing 

Trying to escape

I can’t. 

My emptiness walks by everyone 

No one can notice 

No one can hear 

As if I am muzzled 

Left to scream but the only one who can hear, 

Is me. 

Writing

Impact.

It’s funny how the smallest thought can make the largest impact 

How the tiniest word can change someone’s day 

How the most minuscule gesture can break a soul 

Yet we don’t seem to think before we act

We don’t fully grasp the total power at our fingertips

We don’t think how much what we do affects our environment 

From smiling at someone as we walk down the street

To sitting next to someone alone, in silence, but together 

At times I feel like the human psyche is out for revenge 

Like no matter what we do we always go left 

Never completely seeing how our actions impact the world 

They didn’t see how their text saved someone’s life

They didn’t see how every time that person listened to that song, they couldn’t help but think 

sad thoughts 

They didn’t see how reaching out their hand made someone’s day 

In the end, we all step upon the earth 

But only a few look back to see their footprint

Writing

Too much.

I am at loss for words
There’s too much to say 

And there’s too little meaning to my words at this point 
I am stupid for ever thinking this could be okay 

For thinking that I could play an acting role in my own life 

To make it seem like I was perfectly fine 
But I’m not 

I care 

About every word, every letter, every breath that comes out of your mouth 

And I cannot seem to find the reason
Maybe I’ve been broken by those who came before 

Maybe I thought it was the same 

That caring didn’t matter to anyone else but me 

That caring gave too much effort to a cause that was not returned 
I guess I was wrong 

It was too late 

How funny it is

Too little and too much 

Nothing is enough. 

Writing

Overthink.

I breathe to please others 
Every move 

Every action 

Every word 

Filtered 

I overthink 

I write and write again 

Just to assure myself that everyone else will be happy 

Nothing will be perfect 

But maybe just good enough to make them proud 

Am I a bad person? 

Am I in the wrong? 

I don’t know what to do anymore 

I have been walking down my path blindly 

Charting every step in accordance with their views 

Why do I live to please? 

When others don’t even seem to care

Why is it that I can never go right

When others don’t even think of what is true 

I am done 

I live to please one. 

Me.