teenage angst

every time somebody touches me without warning, it feels like

i’m in the middle of a firepit, every time somebody touches me,

a thousand school bells ring in both ears, i walk in intervals of 7,

and my footsteps must alternate between stepping on a crack and

the middle-point between the two cracks, i’ve always

avoided stepping stones for this reason, the front of my

chapstick on my desk needs to be facing me, or i

firmly believe it’s livid, and never speaking

to me again. most times when i say, “i love you too”

i feel like i’m forging my parent’s signature,

even though i love all people a lot. a little too much,

maybe. it’s just that it never sounds the way i want it to.

when people ask me why i haven’t dated

anyone in years, the saliva i swallow during that pause tastes

like expired milk. biting my nails is a way

of carving away at my soul. i like double-digit even

numbers, they tell me that safety

exists. when i cry, my eyes burn with the

taste of too much lime. when i feel dead

on the outside, both my palms are black holes. i must

eat sandwiches in a circular motion to the center,

so that the world is balanced,

so that no hearts are broken today. that’s why i don’t

like to eat sandwiches from deli’s, they fall apart.

i must keep the layer of ice cream in the tub smooth,

so that nobody faces a bumpy ride.

on days like these, i picture being stood up at the altar

by a secret admirer that doesn’t exist.

and between the person i am, and the person that i wanted to be, i have a secret to share.

and in the hopes of becoming a better person, i instead chose to shelter myself into a bubble of personality characteristics that neglect to accurately depict who i am. i used to think i write the way i talk, and i talk the same way that i walk, and i walk the way i feel, and i feel the way i think. but none of it’s true, and it’s all been part of my imagination that i can place these pieces together and use it as a maneuver to be this person i want to be.

i had learned throughout the years that there are few things in life that are infinite. i had learned that sharing feelings often gets you into trouble. and i had also learned that love is a dangerous, dangerous weapon, a double-edged sword. and i had to let myself go in order to have a new life, in order to regain what i had lost and to fit into society. and i had to learn to be sarcastic. yes, i had to observe how others joked around and learned how to butt heads with one another and laugh about it, because i had let feelings overwhelm me so much that i had forgotten what it was like to look at the other side of the life that isn’t so serious.

and i had learned to explore the possibilities of every corner on my own. what secrets each place held, and where the key could be found to various people’s hearts. and some of them i have found, and some have been concealed within the boundless sky, hidden behind clouds, disappearing into the sunlight.

because once i believed in love. i believed love crawled around in the shadows. but nowadays, the only love i can even get a glimpse of is through a movie screen or  through the words tangled within the depths of a capturing novel. and now there are simply remnants scattered throughout my life that represent the holes in my heart, the emptiness that i long to fill. and these are supposed the best years of your life. and maybe i’ll look back and believe so. there isn’t time for feelings and there isn’t time to sit and relax. time stops for no one, let alone you. and you are youthful, and you are divine, and you are a beautiful soul, but you won’t let anyone know. so live, and live, and live, because there’s no time for second chances. there are no seconds glances for love if it was never there to begin with.

and if this is everything i’ve always wanted, i’d like to have nothing at all.