highlighter hands, highlighter nose, heavy feet ankles, weak
suppose for a moment that i didn't constantly fall, what a joke
it's that extra centimetre i couldn't jump foot or two
i couldn't run without
gasping
it's that basket i make when no one's looking
but those flustered fumbles that happen when all eyes are turned
around
it's that thing i never called poetry until i was
convinced
and then it's like i did something so wrong to feel remotely good about myself. and it's in my face again how i really can't... how it isn't.
what always happens
like i'm not allowed to be happy for too long, i hit myself
for telling people i want to go to uw next year
like that'll happen.
and then i'll have to live with everyone knowing i got rejected
again.
abandoned
as always.
and i wonder, why did You die for this piece of garbage?