Young Writers Society

napo day 9: maybe/is it possible?

i spend so much time questioning
my self-worth, comparing myself
to others, that i can't even
care about taking care of
myself.

i fall short, every single time,
and sometimes it seems like
going on isn't worth it.

(what is "it", exactly? there
doesn't seem to be something
good waiting for me no matter
how hard i try.)

i remember once, i found out that
a girl my height who people always
call skinny weighs twenty five more
pounds than i do. i looked down at me
and it seemed like i was suffocating in
my own body, like i was too much,
and i needed to s h r i n k.

all of these things i find out make
me happy inside, but also very
confused.

the mirror tells me
i have so much weight i could lose,
but i still weigh what my peers consider
"walking dead, dangerously underweight".

is it possible that my mind distorts
my image of myself? and that i really
am skinny enough?

could it be that i don't have to be
perfect to deserve love and
happiness,

and that just trying and showing
up or not showing up but still trying
is good enough?

sometimes i think yes, but mostly

i think

no.

i have a poem written for today, but then i had track practice/youth group and now it's late, i'll type it up tomorrow, just putting this to show i'm still writing a poem a day!
edit:
napo day 10: my words are not me

my words don't come freely
like they used to.

sometimes there is a storm
of them, swimming around in
my head, begging to be heard
but struggling to leave my mouth.

other times they all disappear
when i least want them to,
my mind a blank page,
i don't have the pencil to fill it.

when i speak:

my words hide in the corners
of my brain, and when i find them,
they run out of my mouth
quietly, stumbling over their
own feet.

when i speak:

i consider, question, confuse
everything i say because all
i can think about is what other
people think.

when i speak:

my words rearrange themselves
as they are announced to the world,
and fall down on the stage right at
the moment when
everyone is watching.

maybe i should never speak,
be
silent,
shut up,
quiet the storm
of unsaid things
in my mind.

maybe if i could bring myself
to talk/think about, to
acknowledge,
the bad (please tell me
it's not my fault)
thoughts and feelings
that come from somewhere
i can't name,

i'd have space to breathe,
move, think, grow.

but maybe the tighter i lock
myself up, the happier i
will be.

napo day 11: scattered thoughts

you told me that it was okay,
that it didn't have to be perfect,
that just doing it counted for
something.

i didn't believe you but i
really wanted to.

everything i make, say, do,
think, makes me hate myself
even more, and i want it to stop

but then i wouldn't have an
excuse to be sad.

every time i cut, the past
bleeds out of me, but
i can't stop

because then i wouldn't
deserve the love that i want
more than anything else in
the world.

napo day 12:

my blood is like a recipe dreamed up
by a child, full of imperfections,
and i am made up of three ingredients-
the past, pain, and ghosts.
every time i cut
they trickle out of me
and are washed down
the drain.
i haven't told anyone about
anything yet but i know what
they'd say if i did-

why?

i wouldn't say anything
back to them, but a million
thoughts, reasons, wishes

would run in circles through
my mind.

and none of them would be the
answer, because i don't know
why. why would anyone rather
starve than grow? cut than feel?

i used to be a chattering,
all knowing, smiling girl.

nothing has ever happened that
would make me this way,

and it's my fault, and if it's my fault,

i don't deserve to be loved.

napo poem 13: forgetting how to feel

at the end of seventh grade,
when all of the sad things
piled up one on top of another,

i cried for three days straight
and then stopped because
it hurt too much.

things are so much worse now
than they were then, but i
can't feel sad, and i think
that i can't carry everything
that i have to hold.

i used to be like a shaken-up
bottle of soda, but now it's
gone flat and i don't know
what to do.