a poetry scrapbook

the world is blurred
a bit like the way the world is
when things are moving too fast.

I am a chain
I am chained
I am.

when i speak, the words blur.
time and voice
have lost meaning.

I can't count the stars
right now.
I can't see the clouds
right now.
I find it hard to breathe
right now.
I feel suffocated
and find it all terrifying.

i stole scripture lines
from off the page
and made them mine.
(not really,
but i want to.)

Spoiler

just to be clear, this isn't talking about plagiarism ToT

i'm starting to feel
all the things i vowed to learn
bubble beneath my skin.
the languages buzz
and the skills crackle.
too much ambition,
too little effort.

uhh, I just got an angry yet despairing shouting voice in my head that said to post it so *clicks hesitantly*

Spoiler

AND WHEN I FALL OUT OF MY OWN HEART
THERE WILL BE BLOOD SHED
AND IT WILL BE MY OWN

spring in a switched place
flock to the meadows,
follow the streams,
find fun in fellows
who forge friendship frequently
and ferry fumes from faces.
any fickle flip of contingency
will not be fecklessly
forgotten in lieu
of some far fetched idea.
if you fumble this catch...
well, foot, meet face.

sometimes, i
can feel my
heartbeat in my
spine
and each individual vertebrae
of my neck.

we are people, dear friends.
we are only people,
and that is all
we will ever be.

ten things i’m proud of
1. this
2. list
3. is
4. way
5. harder
6. than
7. it’s
8. supposed
9. to
10. be.

i am anxious
just existing

it's sad
how much
i long
to be
an angel

anything can be
poetry if you write it
with enough passion.

and i hate
that i feel
like i don't understand
anything
right now